


Sleep Aid

by someonesgrlbomb



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonesgrlbomb/pseuds/someonesgrlbomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snafu wants to get some sleep in the short term, and he wants to save Sledge in the long (like, forever) term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Aid

"Hey, hey, it's ok. Snafu, it's ok. Snafu, wake up. Come on, now, it's Sledgehammer talking to you here. It's ok."

It was actually about as fucking far from OK as you get on this XXth night in the muddy unforgiving bloodthirsty soul-draining island battleground, but Sledge had to guard the silence. Snafu's fitful sleep could wind up giving away their foxhole position to those creeping Japs who might slither in and slice them up before they knew it. They were supposed to take turns sleeping while the other was on watch. Helping the other through his "sleep" was often as big a chore as watching the line, because it could spiral into something threatening everyone’s mortality and sanity. 

Snafu passed easily through the thin veil separating his fever dreams from his dysentery reality. The dreams would set in instantly upon closing eyes, and there was little difference between his nightmares and his reality, little physical capacity to relax muscles and senses. So, while awakening was a change in consciousness, it was not much of an experiential change. 

But between the two abysses, Snafu found one good moment. It was that split second of registering the very first piece of his physical reality to be the firm presence of Sledge. Sledge bringing him back, watching over him. That moment was delicious; it was before all the other details came flooding in, like the tally of who'd fallen, or what his ever-shrinking odds that coming day probably were. It was a beautiful pure moment he couldn’t avoid even if he wanted to, so maybe that made it nice too. It was the most reliable comfort Snafu had known lately, and in a weird way, maybe ever. Sledge was near, and it was just the two of them. 

Sledge had been gently nudging Snafu, gripping his shoulder, touching him all sorts of ways. Sledge’s touching was intended to wake Snafu confortingly yet firmly so as not trip any of his defenses. The whispered reassurances in Sledge's elegant 'Bama twang had been secondary. Quiet touching was by far preferred, consistent with their general directive to be as silent as possible to avoid being located by the Japs and to minimize confusion for others listening for that enemy movement. It was a Marine-issued procedure. Neither man had to think about how it was also an opportunity for gentle physical contact.

As always, the happy Sledge-filled moment passed for Snafu, and the realities of his life retabulated in his head, unavoidably. They bore down on him though every inch of his skin, from his slimy socks inside his boondockers to the stench of rotting corpses wafting in from above their hole. "Shit," Snafu muttered, announcing his consciousness and disappointment. It was his second failed sleep attempt in 45 minutes and he felt the drag on his limbs. Not that he recalled the refreshment of sleep. He chased it anyway.

With Snafu no longer grinding teeth and whimpering along in a nightmare, Sledge could have put more distance between them, but he didn't. His vigil was outward, but he was seated just a few inches from Snafu, failing to evenly divide up the diameter of the foxhole between them. Sledge would glance at Snafu continually, but mostly his eyes remained above the pit, scanning the horizon. Having a fellow marine struggle to sleep was as routine as setting up the mortar launcher, as cleaning rifles. But Snafu could feel Sledge's concern, where ever he might have been looking. Seemed more than the usual. Had for quite some time. Snafu was sure he didn't deserve any of it. He was lost, past saving, dangerous for anyone to give a shit about. Why would a nice guy like Sledge tether to a dead man?

As he tried to drift away again, Snafu looked at Sledge’s shiny damp outline, his jawline cutting dark against the dark, and he felt the spots warm on his shoulder and knee where Sledge had been rubbing and gripping him. The warmth was growing into throbs and aches in these places, ground zeroes of concentrated want, in a way Snafu wouldn't readily acknowledge except in the haze of his exhaustion. Reverberating with these echoes of Sledge's touch, Snafu could cling to that wonderful moment he experienced upon first awakening. Snafu became aware that following these feelings provoked by simply being touched kindly and personally by Sledge held a promise of some old fashioned relief and sleep aid, if he could just follow it all through to its conclusion.

Snafu rolled from being belly-up to his side, back toward Sledge, though he was kind of at about a 30 degree angle upright against the earth. He had his poncho on, providing more than adequate cover to open up his dungarees. Nevermind how filthy his hands might be. The mess of the mud and humanity they all lived within left these concerns far behind at a desperate time like this, aching for sleep and escape, and having some kind of meaningful human contact twisted into a hard-on he didn't need to understand. He was a little surprised how hard he was. He rubbed shoulders and hips with other marines constantly, but only Sledge invading his personal space had this effect. Sledge cared, was a damn fine marine, offered Snafu (and somehow only Snafu) special respect as a more experienced veteran. Sledge seemed to take Snafu's acid tone during the day as a kindness, as intent to shield him from harm, shock him into learning how to survive. Sledge was like that - saw good where others had to squint to see any. Hell of a skill to hang onto in war. Snafu felt he was just trying to make sure he didn’t get taken out in a fucked up way, like from friendly fire or failed dispersion tactics or some shit. 

Snafu knew Sledge admired him because he caught him looking over at him all the time, at first taking cues from him as the more experienced veteran, but after awhile, it was just their rhythm. They grew to be highly synched in their mortar squad. They were side by side so much in battle, in a gun pit or rifle squad push, suicide dashes over beaches or fields, on a march, in a foxhole all night; they could lose track of where each of them ended and the other began. Though everybody in the company had it rough, Sledge and Snafu lived each others’ specifics, and so derived a different level of understanding no one else was part of. They were transcending so much together – transcending all usual notions of human endurance, transcending usual notions of time (30 minutes of heavy shelling feels like days), transcending usual civility as they regarded the enemy as something less than human and they themselves subsisted daily in subhuman conditions, transcending usual trust as they relied on each other moment to moment to literally survive in more ways than one. 

So many of the usual rules of men were lost in this cauldron.

Near to Sledge, Snafu started working his shaft at a moderate pace. The initial strokes felt unbelievably good. Snafu could appreciate how just getting a few strokes in was a treasure, as it meant he felt safe enough and foggy enough to enjoy it. He was almost in disbelief he might actually get away with stealing this moment for a pleasant escape. He curled over so much he was able look out the side of his eyes back to Sledge sitting there. At first Snafu looked so he could monitor whether Sledge was noticing his rhythmic actions. He didn’t seem to be; just kept glancing at Snafu as he always did. Snafu became transfixed by the glint in Sledge's eyes. Even though over time Sledge's eyes conveyed his weariness from exertion, hollowness from despair, even firey wrath from hatred for the enemy, he was still amazingly able to return to his measured countenance eventually every time. Despite everything, Sledge was still holding a candle of hope for the future. Snafu was drawn to that, possibly out of fascination, certainly out of need. 

Need. Need. Needneedneed. Snafu kept the rhythm on his now fully hardened cock, and noted Eugene's hands, resting on his rifle in his lap. Strong, slender, large hands. They knew their way around that carbine, around the mortar launcher, so sure and solid, skilled and fast. Snafu could trust those hands. Other than his face they were the only skin showing on Sledge. Those hands had gripped Snafu, pressed his shoulder, his leg, even stroked his cheek, Snafu was pretty sure. 

Snafu was getting somewhere, dick so hard, the rubbing so satisfying and yet creating more need all at once as he jerked his fist up and down. It had been a couple of weeks since he last was able to do this (solitary behind a supply pile in a rear area), and so he could explode easily now if he could relax more and think of the right things. He closed his eyes but still saw Sledge; saw him everywhere, all the time. Hard to remember his world before Eugene Sledge. What was that world? Oh yeah, it was clean, and Snafu fucked dames with soft skin, pretty perfume; mainly dirty secret French quarter alley quick fucks, but also some long slow ones in the back of a car where the girl's tits would be bouncing right in his face as she straddled him. Oh yes, he'd gotten two of those easily in the time between enlisting and shipping out. American girls answered the call of duty, too.

These were good thoughts, these were helping. Then, there was some disturbance – muffled, unintelligible yelping, from the direction of another foxhole. Snafu froze in place to listen. Normally this would be painful, but it didn't register when the far more important issue was whether Japs were about to pounce on him. Sledge put his hand on Snafu’s back, shaking gently, readying him. Five seconds ticked by; the right password was uttered and word passed along. The tension passed. Sledge let his hand up off of Snafu. “Guess it was one of us,” Sledge whispered.

"Yeah. Fuck," Snafu sighed, shifting toward Sledge and now facing the sky, caring less about what Sledge might be able to see or hear. He resumed working his dick and was burning where Sledge had again touched him, wanting to shove closer and have more. He was breathing a little heavy from holding his breath during the disturbance, and from the relief that it was nothing, and from the frustration that he'd been pushed off track a little. 

Sledge was unchanged in position, but was ramping down from the excitement. Snafu could feel that downward slope in Eugene, sure as he felt his own pulsing cock in his hand. This accelerated Snafu's ability to get back to his business, feeling he was somehow on a mission to relieve them both, like if they got started now and jerked off four times a day for the next 20 years side by side they might eventually expel the troubles of this war taking up residence in their bodies. If they could just get some relief, God, they needed and deserved some fucking relief. If side by side they could get there...

Snafu unwittingly let loose a tiny groan, nothing anyone would hear or think much of if they did, other than Sledge, who would appreciate it for what it was since he was physically so close and because he knew every god damned thing about Snafu. Sledge darted his eyes more frequently his way, and though it was hard to tell in the dark, probably more frequently to the billowing poncho which Snafu’s hand and arm kept lofting upward. Snafu knew, with mixed feelings, that no matter how much Sledge was interested in this scene Snafu was creating, Sledge wouldn't drop his guard and put them both at risk. Knowing this, Snafu had a safe wall from behind which he could operate and explore, something exciting and edgy that might get this job done.

Snafu exhaled, and when all the air was almost out, whispered all drawn out, "Eugene." 

"Getcherself some rest now," Sledge whispered back, tentatively, definitely not looking at Snafu when he spoke. Just one or the other transgression at a time for him. 

"Trying to," Snafu assured him. "Trying to," he repeated as he lost all concern for hiding his actions and threw the poncho sideways and exposed himself to the cool, momentarily non-raining night sky. He closed his eyes and, safely ensconced behind the wall that was Eugene Sledge's unwavering dedication to protecting them, Snafu let out another deep breath and let go, wanting to make quick work of this before anything else interrupted, before he lost one more second of sleep. 

He went faster and harder, thought about the related but abstract concepts of deeper and closer, enjoyed being so near to Sledge, doing this in the open for Sledge…but Snafu still wanted to hurry up and get there. So Snafu went ahead and let himself envision it: Sledge's hand working him. 

"Sledgehamma,” Snafu’s ‘Nawlins drawl quietly dripped. He chuckled a little tiny bit and whisper-whined, “Need some more men up here.” His daily refrain, which he knew exasperated Sledge. “Need some more, Sledgehamma. Need us some more.” No complaints.

Snafu was creating a moment in his head that just maybe was a real moment in that foxhole, as clearly Sledge was participating via his lack of reaction. Sledge must have wanted Snafu to get this satisfaction. He was there on watch so Snafu could do this. Sledge was sitting so close, with Snafu sitting right next to him, hiding nothing. That Sledge didn’t seem to be responding at all meant he was there with Snafu in this moment as much as he could be. At least, that was one possible interpretation, but Snafu did not work to gather the list of possibilities. He convinced himself of the one he needed, and speeded his hand up to its fastest possible pace. He allowed himself to want it for him and for Sledge. He expanded his imagining from just Sledge using his hand on Snafu’s cock, to Snafu working Sledge’s cock, too, only about 3 inches away from where he was anyway. Snafu didn’t have a whole scene in mind. He just wanted some relief, some damn action on the connection they had, something for both of them. He wanted everything good for the both of them. He allowed himself to want that.

“Need us some more,” Snafu echoed breathlessly, feeling his shaft working and having a mild out of body experience, as his mind succeeded in convincing his cock it was under the care and direction of Sledge, and his own hand pumping was for Sledge’s pleasure and relief. “More, Sledge, more,” he babbled again, eyes squinting in their continuing closed position. He pressed his leg against Sledge, making for improved range of access to his cock, and to complete some aspect of the connection.

And then Snafu heard Sledge breathe a little unsteadily. “Jesus,” he whispered, a little desperate sounding.

And that heaved Snafu over the edge. His orgasm brought all his energy to one streaking focus through his cock, a wondrous sensation coursing through his body, ecstasy previously given up on. He halted his accompanying volley of groans in his throat. Only Sledge could have perceived the tiny squeaks escaping, the struggle to keep quiet itself. Where the semen went was of no concern – over his hand, around on his dungarees –what the hell ever. He rubbed his dick more slowly as the sensations subsided and Snafu traded the intensity of his orgasm for a sense of amazing peacefulness. 

As Snafu drifted off, more relaxed than he could remember being, wiping his hand on his thigh halfheartedly, Sledge moved away a little bit. He was mostly just shifting, like he had an itch to scratch, but it was enough to panic Snafu ever so slightly. No matter if he got it all wrong. It got him to the brink of sleep like he wanted. They didn’t ever have to say another word about it, something Southern boys like them were better versed at than anyone. Snafu knew it was best to just shut down his thoughts and let the darkness embrace him and escort him to a temporary oblivion, and plan to sort it all out later.

 

********

 

Next thing Snafu knew, he was hearing Sledge’s familiar whisper in his ear, letting Snafu know it was his turn for watch, sending his warm accompanying breath into his ear as well. Snafu got his momentary glow, that golden beautiful moment where his world was filled with Sledge and Sledge alone, and then he was doubly pleased to feel Sledge pressed up on him. Snafu was curled on his side, and Sledge had curled his front against Snafu’s back and was gripping Snafu’s upper arm as he whispered stiffly, through gritted teeth, “Wake up, Snaf. My turn. Come on now. It’s 3. Wake up. My turn.”

Memories of his enhanced descent to sleep next came flooding back to Snafu. And he simultaneously realized Sledge was saying something funny – saying “My turn.” Usually it was, “Your turn for watch, Snafu. Wake up, your turn.” Not usually so tense either.

Snafu looked over his shoulder, face to face with Sledge. A beat passed. Sledge was frozen except for re-affirming his grip a little and the intense need he was radiating. Even though Snafu had been sleeping like a brick, he stirred his body into motion without hesitating, as a matter of training, of loyalty. Getting out from under Sledge wasn’t all that completely weird an event as Sledge often would have to collapse around Snafu to get to his ear, depending on the shape of the foxhole, or in other times when they had to fall together to get behind shelter and other such factors. What was weird was the sensation of Sledge’s erection pressing up against him as well. 

Snafu locked eyes with Sledge as slid out and made to sit up, and said slowly, “Yeah, ok, Sledgehamma. I got you. Your turn.” Snafu was fully aware neither of them had their eyes outside the foxhole, a dangerous lapse; but it told him how desperate Sledge must have been. Must have spent his entire watch kinda desperate for this moment to arrive. 

Snafu could feel how Sledge was stuck, wanting but not really able to move much. Snafu didn’t make much distance between them and kept their faces close, not abandoning Sledge. Snafu nodded sideways, indicating Sledge should take his place lying down low in the hole. Then as Snafu pushed his body up with his hands to sit up, he assured Sledge, “I got you, Boo.” Snafu grunted a little as he pushed up, as cutting off his peaceful sleep was unfortunate, but Snafu was duty-bound to take watch, and his desire for them to both get a taste of that peaceful blackness was strong. He would repay Sledge gladly. He waded through the tide of his muscles working against him and screaming, prettypleasestayputgoddammit.

Sledge collapsed tentatively toward the bottom of the foxhole where Snafu had been, and Snafu guided him down with a hand on his back. Snafu then leaned over and whispered in Sledge’s ear: “Go ahead, Sledgehamma, get yours.” But even as he did these things, he worked to put his fly back together, put on his helmet, reached back with his right hand to pull his Kabar out of its scabbard and stuck it in the ground nearby. “Go on, it’s alright,” Snafu continued, seeing Sledge needed more permission and encouragement. Just like you’d figure. Snafu continued getting set up for watch, next reaching for the Tommy gun, but left hand still on Sledge. Then he leaned in close to Sledge. Real close, saying, “Get you some rest, Sledgehamma, get it how best you can.” Sledge lifted his head up and met Snafu’s daring bid at alarmingly reduced distance. It was dark and a little miscalculation from someone – no one would ever know who – caused Snafu's nose to brush against Sledge's unshaven cheek, hot breath against skin.

Snafu had to withdraw because that’s all the more he felt he could afford, for a few reasons. He sat up and pulled his gun into his lap. Sledge sighed like he was actually going to deflate, and his breathing from there made it seem like every movement he was making was a little painful, but at least he was moving. Sledge quickly lifted his body, opened his fly (commando was invented for the hot tropics and THIS), and rolled over to face upward, just as Snafu had been. As Snafu settled upright, kneeling next to Sledge, looking around outside for enemy trouble, Sledge got to work on his painfully hard cock immediately, no ramping up. He was instantly worked up into a feverishly bedeviled pace, shot out of a cannon, practically out of control except it was such focused effort.

Snafu’s cock had of course hardened again. His stomach was doing flip-flops. In the service you stumble into guys jacking off all the time (a giant mass of 17-22 year old men, whatcha expect?), but he never responded to it this way. Usually he'd make a crack and leave, but if in the torturing mood, make a crack loudly and draw a crowd, then watch the poor bastard roll over with blue balls and he'd laugh his ass off. But now, it was all he could do to sit there, keeping watch and keeping himself from helping any way he could in Sledge's mad sprint toward relief. Snafu’s guess about how Sledge had waited and waited for his turn had to have been 100% on the money, judging from this desperate scene. Luckily Snafu was not as tortured by his own physical desire since he had relieved himself some hours ago. It was watching Sledge struggle through his desire, his unmet need, emitting squeaks and choked grunts, obvious fear and self-judgment getting in the way and mucking up Sledge’s pure God-given right for some fucking relief - all that was killing Snafu. But he would keep watch, just as Sledge had for him, though his mind went racing for ways to both watch for Japs and pave the way for Sledge to get his turn.

Snafu considered Sledge’s earlier wavering “Jesus,” utterance and aimed to say something of similar effect, hoping...It came out in his usual slow whispered drawl: "God damn, Sledgehammer,” and he licked his lips, listening to Sledge’s ongoing exertions and obvious sighs responding to what he said. He found himself continuing, “I…I would bend down right now and...I'd help you out if I could." Snafu was shocked at himself and Sledge and everything but just brushed it aside with a chuckle and added, "I swear to God, I really would. Straight dope, Sledge. I fucking…I…” 

Snafu realized Eugene was in some weird struggling painful plateau – like maybe Snafu was hurting as much as helping, but he never could shut up when he ought to, so he pushed on. “Sledgehamma…I will, later. If you want. I will. You and me. You like that idea, Sledgehamma? Just let me know.” For himself, Snafu whispered, “God damn."

Then, Sledge was heaving, one arm over his face to bite the sleeve and muffle any sounds, other hand jacking his erupting dick as he also thrust his hips helplessly forward into the air. As he calmed down, whatever else he did, he kept his arm over his mouth, and then, really, it was over his eyes. Snafu knew he wasn't attending the dark bushes or the full 270 degrees of routes in as well as he should, but hoped his months and months of this shit gave him some kind of trustworthy autopilot for the job. It was beyond fascinating to watch Sledge writhing like that, easy enough to take it in with his peripheral vision as it was so close and those bucking hips were unmistakable. Snafu found Sledge's orgasm to be thoroughly soul-satisfying. Worth every crazy thing he just said.

Sledge grew still, breathing quiet, pants still unzipped and open to the heavens though his right hand rested over his softening cock, legs flopped out to each side, and eyes still covered by the crook of the left elbow. Snafu smiled, looking at him to verify his peacefulness, seeing how Sledge fell asleep like that. Figured in a minute he’d grab a jacket or something to cover Sledge up with. Snafu thought about the other foxholes around them, considered a similar scene playing out in each one, always drawing little horrified chuckles for himself, weighing odds about which one was most likely, how they stacked up.

But then Sledge took in a breath audibly, then another, deliberate. Inhale and exhale became shaky. His eyes were still covered. Just as Snafu realized Sledge wasn’t asleep, Sledge suddenly flipped over, curled up, one hand holding his pants together, the other still providing shelter for his face, now pillowing it from the ground. Sledge was shaking and sobbing. Expertly quiet, but not good enough to escape Snafu knowing. Sledge might as well have been screaming.

Snafu was crushed - first, because Sledge wasn't asleep, and next, because Sledge was broken over what just happened. 

Snafu swallowed, waited, not sure if doing anything would help or make it worse. He hovered his hand over Eugene's back a few times but didn't lower it. What agony; so fucking typical of this goddamn war. You never knew what fresh hell was waiting from any direction, never was worthwhile to feel anything, always bit you in your raggedy ass eventually. Maybe Sledge was about to lose it officially. Of course – perfect - Snafu would be the one to finally break the man who was holding him together, who had shown miraculous capacity to recover after countless human tragedies splattered directly onto his person. "I don't know, Gunny," Snafu would have to explain in the morning as they hauled a babbling Sledge away to the hospital, "guess he just had enough." Maybe he'd make up a story about Sledge seeing imaginary Japs through the night.

Snafu's unhappy reverie was abruptly cut short by Sledge scooting into him. He looked down and saw Sledge's right hand extending up toward him. Sledge was still face down but was leaning a bit so he could reach behind his own body toward the sky, toward Snafu. As soon as he perceived the gesture, the reaching fingers, Snafu dropped the sub-machine gun into his lap and grabbed Eugene's hand with both of his. Their mess of hands dropped together onto the small of Sledge’s back. Snafu had to lean down more than he really should but this was now mission critical like nightmare-waking duty, keeping patches on any cracks starting to show in Sledge if still possible. Sledge had made it so Snafu was in a “win” position, like Sledge should be yelling “uncle.” Sledge was relaxing and slowing his sobs. Being dominated in a non-existent wrestling match was the most comforting thing in the world to Sledge, it seemed.

Snafu was able to free one hand and press it gently on the upper part of Sledge’s back. He did not know what to try next. He just stayed in the moment with Sledge and strained for any clues. All he could get was to stay right where they were. Eventually Sledge stopped sobbing completely, and a minute after that, withdrew his hand, turned to his side, and looked with half lidded eyes at Snafu. They just looked at each other till Sledge blinked out of consciousness.

Snafu was relieved Sledge finally passed out, and snapped quickly back to the grind of watching shadows and interpreting the sounds of foliage, grateful for knowing what to do with himself next. Through his watch, he had the interesting visuals and sounds he had just witnessed to replay, new weird ambivalent thoughts about the future, satisfaction watching Sledge sleep, and wild signals from his stomach to field - sometimes tingles, sometimes nausea, but oddly, never hunger. 

If nothing else amounted to anything over this night’s events, at least Snafu was charged up and, thanks to Eugene Sledge, having no problem keeping awake.

 

******

 

Dawn faded in, yielding to a more reasonable mindset, eroding away the sharpened points of paranoia invoked by every shadow through the night. Marines started milling around, taking pisses, making coffee, rehashing the disturbance and comparing notes on how certain plant life looks like a crouching enemy in the dark. Dawn also brought the green light to smoke - the greatest humanitarian gift of the morning. Snafu lit up but stayed put with Sledge until word came supplies were arriving. Then he jumped to help, hoping enough other guys would come, too, so no one would come barking up at Sledge to get up and help. Shelling maybe a half mile away had picked up and so it wouldn’t be long before Sledge would wake up anyway. 

It had been one thing to exist for the remainder of the dark night next to Sledge, nothing really changing. As Snafu's morning went along in its surreal normal, it was quite something else the more distance there was between that night and the present. As Snafu had already carved about as deep into stone-faced and unflappable as anyone had ever explored, he had nowhere left to go to cope along that spectrum. So, he went giddy. It was like a gelatinous layer coated all over him, just from issuing an invitation to Sledge for a more intimate exchange in pursuit of “relief,” and it was thickened whenever he thought about Sledge's reaction to it. Snafu’s legs felt wobbly. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He felt self-conscious he might be flapping them around (he fucking hated that he did that sometimes), so he tucked them under his arms when not dragging or carrying something. He didn't laugh at anybody's jokes - just wanted people to feel like assholes and leave him alone, not examine him too close.

Snafu was right to drag heels a little heading to the mortar pit, heart racing, as indeed, he could see Sledge was up among the living, so to speak, and was cleaning the mortar launcher there. Other than a glance of recognition and Sledge slowing up some, neither man made much eye contact or acknowledged the other in a manner that would be considered social. Snafu flopped the heavy ammo cases into a stack but not very gracefully, letting some things tumble sideways, and had to go back for more. He paused, still waiting for that sign from Sledge, though the mere fact that he was up and functioning ruled out the "brain had become oatmeal" realm of possibilities and Snafu drew some relief. No other intel seemed to be forthcoming; it was entirely likely there would be nothing else. Nothing ever again about it. 

Accepting the silence as the message, Snafu’s heart slowed and he felt some regained control over his wobbly limbs. He resigned to being hated, but having a functioning Sledge back. Snafu turned to go, and in three steps heard Sledge say firmly, “Shelton.” Then a pause long enough for a swallow and a thought. “Don’t worry.” 

Snafu made a half turn back and met Sledge's intent sideways stare, pathway to souls in full view for one another. That moment contained the highest density, grade A, vacuum sealed mutual understanding that physics allows for. 

They went about their business and Snafu felt things return somewhere closer to regular fucked up instead of that notch above it that apparently existed. 

Word soon came they would be moving out, pushing further south. Their line had become too cold from enemy fallback and some companies needed reinforcement after taking too hard a beating. Hell's butcher shop had moved on without them and the particular damnation of K Company was to chase the center of the meat grinder where ever it spun off to. 

A trudging flurry of getting ready ensued. Snafu became more focused in the moment as nerves inside him and from those around generated a kind of static net in the air, catching and holding aloft any thoughts that were useless for combat survival, like those of Snafu’s prior night - its bliss and confusions. Useless shit. Ammo and water and cigarettes mattered, and as did doing the job for the guy next to you. That’s it. The end. 

By late morning it became the usual hurry-up-and-wait for most of the company. Snafu was astounded by the amount of wait time war turned out to have, and when it preceded going off to get your ass shot up, the churning dread was so toxic, it had to be taking months or maybe even a year off your life all by itself. The shelling that seemed a half mile away was intensifying. Navy planes rumbled overhead more frequently. They listened to instructions from NCOs dashing around explaining where and how and when to move and form up. Snafu felt that cursedly familiar fear that made him want to throw up, saw it in Sledge’s tight thin mouth, and started stealing glances with him more. It was as natural and habitual as reaching for a smoke to look to Sledge when shit started heating up.

As they waited, swilling around in that mental limbo, a runner coming up from the rear misjudged a muddy hole, slipped sideways into it, and proceeded to practically have seizures over the maggot slew he'd smashed into and collected in his sleeve and hair. Few waiting men took notice, as it happened daily to someone. Snafu noticed because he enjoyed seeing the pain spread around, especially to guys from the rear, but also because Sledge stepped over to help scrape the wiggling foul gook off and calm him down. Surviving the coming hours was the concern circling over most of the men, and Snafu wished Sledge felt it as vainly as he did, that he would forego tangoing with these trivial distracting tributaries of insanity. They were getting ready to wade into a rushing red river. Sledge’s display reminded Snafu they were in different leagues in some ways. Most alarmingly, Snafu became aware of a renewed sense of future that he was pretty sure he could not afford.

Then agonizing wait time gave way to everything happening way too fast, as they moved toward the artillery explosions and bullet hail, passing by moaning casualties in transport. This movement was in exact opposition to what their own brains would have told them to do, but such was the genius of training. Training fit each man with a second brain that saddled up on top of the original and rode it till it broke, then used the cruelest spurs to push it forward further, and finally, brand it “Property of USMC.”

The day stretched into 40-odd hours of fierce and relentless fighting, until finally it eased a bit as twilight and stalemate set in on the second night. Neither Sledge or Snafu had slept. Bergin rotated them to the reserve position knowing they had been on a crazy two day stint taking and sending fire, running around, getting more than their share of shit done, and told them to both sleep. They were bunched up behind some rocks – rumpled with some gear still on, as even though they were to sleep, it wasn't any kind of guarantee. They still might have to move anytime if someone figured out how to break the stalemate from one side or the other. 

Sledge and Snafu leaned on a rock next to each other, dazed. One of the new replacement guys, now on the other side of his first time taking serious fire, was garnering a fair bit of attention ten yards away, executing the standard freak out over the existential agony of it all. Others were on him, no need to get involved. They were certainly close enough to more or less be part of the scene, but they weren't.

Sledge reflected in a low voice, “Thanks for keeping me from becoming like that.”

Snafu regarded Sledge with a sideways look, unlit cigarette sticking to his lip, blandly sure he could not deal with this conversation nor censor himself should it be actually happening. What would come out of his mouth was as big a mystery to him as anyone. “How you know you ain’t in the midst of some kind a’ fit right now?” he riffed. “How’s a fella supposed to know? Ever think about that Sledgehamma? If you’re in the middle of losing it, you might not know. It might look like anything from the inside, and you might not remember it when it’s all over.”

Sledge considered Snafu’s hypothesis, sniffing, then said, “Well then, guess I wouldn't know. Maybe you haven't been keeping me sane. I guess that might be true as anything."

They stewed on that for a minute, taking in the scene with the shrieking new guy incidentally. He was losing the battle with what might have been enough morphine to take down an alligator, Snafu thought, counting the plugs they shot him up with. A little bothered by ending it there, Snafu grabbed the cigarette off his lip and then said, "Don' let wondering about it fuck with your mind too much," grinning mildly, in a way most guys didn’t even know was a grin.

Sledge chuckled a bit, “Naw. I know I've been upset, but I haven’t never felt like I was, you know, leaving my own head or somethin’. I…think I'd know. And, I think you'd stop me. I think you do stop me."

Snafu failed to hear this as the evidence he needed to stamp out that fear nagging him that he might have damaged Sledge. Snafu could not be convinced he was on any path other than that of extinction of some kind, of never having peace. “Yeah? I think I might be doing a shit job keeping you outta the cracker bin. I think you just about lost it the other night and it seems like you jus’ forgot and so that’s why I wonder if you’d even know it if it happened. ‘Cause you don’t seem to know it.”

Sledge gracefully didn’t flinch, but did look around a bit to be sure no one else was following along. “What? I…you mean after I, uh...we…” Sledge bumped his shoulder into Snafu’s twice in lieu of words, sparking a tad bit of real energy, which took hold and compelled childlike smirks out of each Marine. In exchanging these smirks, they were daring to steal this moment from the war for one another. 

But gunfire still snapped in the vicinity and quieter hitched whimpering was now the sound out of the new and distraught Marine. They didn’t get much of a moment. Sledge picked up where they were and explained, “That was, well, that was…I wasn’t losin’ it.”

“Uh-huh,” Snafu deadpanned, stomping violently and fruitlessly down on the waves of exhilaration rising up inside him over the playful shoulder language acknowledging what had happened.

Sledge got a bit distant, and spoke quietly to the ground, “You know, I was just kind of releasing everything. I couldn’t help it. It was kind of a good thing. You know?”

“I understand the releasing part.” Snafu couldn’t resist grabbing onto the lowest and easiest part of that. Sledge raised his eyebrows in acceptance he had asked for it, but mostly remained expectant. Snafu saw he had to give Sledge more than the obligatory shit-eating grin associated with delivering an ejaculation joke, so he humbled and nodded, and gave it all to Eugene, promising with his eyes that he understood.

The crazed kid had passed out and those helping who didn’t need to be there dispersed. Sledge leaned his helmeted head against Snafu’s. Snafu pressed back, and they dozed for a while, starting awake a dozen times through the next 8 hours.

A steady push on the front line became their lives for days. They charged into ridges, cleared hiding places, took near-constant shelling even from their side, and never had a real moment’s rest from some kind of fire. Snafu had a headache but he didn't really know how bad - hard to tell it from effects of the thunder of landing/exploding artillery, extreme fatigue, inability to eat much for so many reasons including the desire to never have to take a shit again as he'd become so raw from the generalized sicknesses, mud causing walking to be something like 75% more effort for every goddamned step you wanted to take, and don’t forget the rotting fly-infested corpses actually in physical reality haunting them everywhere. It would be worrisome if a fellow failed to identify at least a headache while enduring all this.

Snafu was so tired, so out of resource to think or desire anything. He didn’t even dare desire this campaign of dozens of blurred-together days of bloody combat, mud, and stink to reach a conclusion one way or the other. To compare the unbearable present to any bearable vision of how it could be different felt like a route to madness. Not getting sleep didn’t register as a problem compared with the relentless scenes of guys getting wounded as they rushed out to retrieve the wounded, of the eerily happy million-dollar wound winners getting finished off by a vicious sniper bullet, of civilians of any age or gender being unpredictably transformed into bombs or human shields. It was beyond wearisome and religion-stealing that every pocket of Japanese fighters insisted on total annihilation rather than surrender. Every Marine eventually took his turn expressing frustration for this nonstop dragged out mortal terror and dehumanization in sobs or screams, or even babbling incoherence and zombielike suicide runs at the Japanese line as if he really could end it all for everyone in ending it for themselves.

For all the breakdown of boundaries, no passage was revealed to Snafu that could take him to a place he might like to go with Sledge while this was their existence. If he didn’t dare fathom the end of this waking nightmare, he especially didn’t dare think of any manner of relief via Sledge again. He just kept Sledge in his vision as much as he could, didn’t take great note of it when they were able to both sleep and ended up pressed together. It was just pure survival; that’s all. 

Then, the day came that they finally pushed so far, they broke clean through the Japanese line and marched straight onto the beach. Snafu greeted this sliver of hope that the end was at hand with hollow-eyed skepticism. But, as the ocean air blew directly in over the water and through his curls, he thought about how it traveled in from somewhere else, that indeed there were other places on Earth. He started to soften a little.

They bivouacked right near the beach and were given very light sentinel duty, rotating a couple of men every few hours. Scuttlebutt was that the island was more or less secured. They still heard gunfire, but when hot chow was served, Snafu dropped everything and went to it, increasingly more open to the idea this campaign might be in its death throes. The larger shadow of having to eventually invade mainland Japan, at higher costs than they’d already paid, remained a cruel mindfuck of a probability simmering in the background, but the big picture was pretty hard to see just then as the bare bottom basics of existence materialized again.

Bellies full after miraculous Spam stew (might as well have been prime rib), Snafu and Sledge completed settling in, dazed, working inefficiently at their tent to find places to put all the things they had been carrying. 

Next, they faced the privilege and pain (and direct order) of peeling off their boondockers and socks. Once that was over, Sledge kept going, stripping all his clothes off. Snafu saw that Sledge was so thin, but so hardened, so tanned on his face and neck and hands and kind of his forearms, but nowhere else. 

After weeks of living in "Hell’s own cesspool," (Sledge's own apt observation, jotted down in his pocket Bible and witnessed by Snafu as he did), playfulness was not a skilled emotion, but Sledge tried as he said, “Come on, Snafu. You. Stink.”

“You can't smell past ya own stink cloud to know,” Snafu tossed back, not moving as fast, but not that far behind getting his nasty uniform off, too.

They took a long soak in the ocean, letting the current lap over them and gently pull them around. No man out there was much for the horseplay they had indulged in at the beaches of Pavuvu less than a year ago. The salt stung Snafu’s foot sores and other random scratches and skin heebie-jeebies which jumped up from the mud and infected and prevented healing, but it felt like a cleansing sting, like some of the best possible pain. He stretched his palms out open as he floated on his back and wondered if they had been anything other than curled around a weapon or a stretcher or case of ammo or Eugene’s arm for the last waytoofuckinglong. 

They continued their rhythm of glancing and checking on each other. There wasn’t any real danger, but Snafu wasn’t about to lose Sledge to the ocean, like he wasn’t gonna lose him to the moral depravity of desecrating Japanese corpses, or anything. This concern had been his visual mantra. Snafu was lost, but he would go down saving the goodness in Sledge, if that's what it took. That's what his war had come to be about. Not too different from most infantrymen, just fighting for the guy next to him, whatever the politics were that sent them to fight at all.

They made their way back to the camp area, having scored fresh dungarees to deliciously slide into after the swim, plus clean shirts to shrug on for the cooler descending evening, but neither man buttoned up. They passed Bergin carrying an armful of canteens. “Grab one,” he offered. “You guys have duty coming up?” They nodded no. "See you men at morning chow then," he said, winking and smiling. 

Snafu took a canteen and made a funny face as he felt how light it was, opened it to take a whiff and snapped his face back from the vapors. “Hooo-weeeee. Thanks Bergie,” Snafu hollered as Bergin hurried along to find more guys with whom he wanted to share the bounty. Snafu shook the closed canteen again and felt grateful to have not only a generous NCO whom he respected in the field, but one that was no fool, not giving out too much voodoo juice to tired, crazed men with weapons. 

Snafu shook the canteen. “Boy, I must be more of a lightweight right now than when I was just born,” he complained, nudging Sledge. “This won’t take much to have me swingin’ from the chandeliers.”

“Me too,” Sledge shrugged, owning up to his more virginal history by saying so with less irony. “So don’t worry, we’ll just watch out for each other. You know, you'll watch for me from your chandelier, and I'll watch for you from under that tree where I pass out." 

Snafu's heart eased at Sledge's relaxed joking, seeing him come back to life bit by bit. Snafu held the canteen up ceremoniously, took a swig and handed it over to Sledge. They each snorted and huffed at the heady brew, laughing at themselves. Then they went out to find a spot to be left in peace with Bergin’s gift. The sun was setting and they sat in a shallow tree line in view of the beach, their rear backed by stacks of supplies. At first, they just sighed, stretched, said little, watched the fiery sunset give way to softer hues, watched the ships. For 10 minutes they mainly interacted with each other by passing the canteen back and forth. Clean, fed, not worried about being exploded. Having a few hours where they could pretend their time was their own, not the war’s. The whole set up seemed, relatively speaking, perfect for unwinding and relaxing.

But that turned out to be impossible from where they were.

Snafu identified a hospital ship and tried not to wonder about the dozens and dozens and dozens of casualties of the recent days. He thought of those within the company, and the division, particularly veteran friends or respected leaders who’d been hit with uncertain outcomes. He thought of random other guys who demonstrated new and unique ways that some flesh could cling while some shredded, dangled, or charred. This led to related questions about the fate of half-alive civilians he knew he was walking away from now and then. Luckily it was quickly feeling clear that indeed, it wasn’t going to take many canteen swigs to have an effect. Snafu was hoping it was the ticket he needed to get out of his own bullshit-stuffed head. He thought if he couldn't stop all his grim thoughts, his ears might literally start bleeding.

Snafu turned to nudge Sledge to take the canteen, and found he was not looking out at the water. He was looking right at Snafu with a mild expectancy, but no energy. Snafu regretted hogging the canteen too much. Sledge accepted the round clunking bottle and said, “I’m not gonna have too much more." He then gulped down his two largest pulls yet. He’d been distant. Snafu knew he was struggling with the same tidal wave of incomprehensible images, gut wrenching why-the-fuck-am-I-still-here guilt, and the like. Snafu could understand saying one thing about drinking and doing another. 

"Okay...Sledge...hamma," Snafu luxuriated in getting to speak a regular snail's pace again, taking the canteen back and feeling it was practically empty. "You don't want me to save you any then?"

Sledge breathed in after his intake and got to rambling, displaying that he really did not need those two more slugs, "You know, Snafu, mostly I just…I just…” he looked right at Snafu with glinting eyes, “I just want..." Sledge was stuck staring somewhere just behind Snafu it seemed, and then started taking off his shoes and said, "I want my turn…I want my turn, Snafu. At some goddamn…sleep. Y'know?” 

Yes, Snafu knew fullfuckingwell. In a heartbeat he was whisked into Sledge-centric thoughts, which was a relief in its way. But also, it felt like Sledge had opened the cabin door of a presurized plane during flight, shoved Snafu in front of it so that every memory from the foxhole and implication in between hit like debris and baggage as it rushed at him, pelting him in his gut as he clung to the doorframe trying hopelessly not to get sucked out. But if he was gonna go, he would grab onto Sledge and take him with.

If it wasn’t already the other way around. 

Snafu was actually kind of good at panic by now. Other than a brief eye pop to express all this, he gave away little. “Sleep, huh?" Snafu returned, chuckling. "Yeah, well, that sounds real good." Snafu looked Sledge up and down, nodding slightly, approving, affirming. Taking the panic energy and transforming it into a different and better arousal energy as he looked, because actually, what was there was to panic about? It was Sledge. The panic jolt –maybe that was just because Sledge had them suddenly leaping back to that frankly divine part of being human which had become so distant. 

Sledge seemed unsure but also was generating energy now. He suddenly rocked backward and pulled his pants out from under his seat and off. Still commando. Sledge lived that theory even when it wasn’t hellishly hot. Snafu couldn’t help but notice Sledge’s cock was…he couldn’t know to what degree, but he knew straight-ish and inclined to point up-ish (accounting for everyone might have a funny bend or something) meant pretty much, Sledge had been having thoughts different from what Snafu had figured on.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Snafu dutifully said, in a more choked voice than he wanted, but it was also quiet and calm in the right kind of way. He finished off the canteen. 

”Don’t worry,” Sledge said, rolling over so his back was to Snafu, propped up on his left elbow, right hand free to pump his dick. “Just gonna…” and Snafu could see his body rhythmically rocking, and heard Sledge grunting a little, too. "Jus' lemme..."

For a split second Snafu chuckled at how quickly the booze had taken Sledge's brakes off, and in the next second considered the clear way out Sledge was giving him. But Snafu knew full well he'd declared his intentions already. He couldn't go back on his word. Not to Sledge. What if that would turn out to be the thing that broke him? And, goddammit, what if the whole thing really was as right as it seemed? 

Snafu leaned in and said softly, "I ain't worried. And, I’m gon’ more than let you."

Snafu became aware his own dick was getting a little frantic for exits and friction, but he stayed focused on Eugene. Snafu scooted over to Sledge, and Sledge looked back at him over his shoulder with a beautiful, tragic concentration, squinting as he kept jacking his hand up and down, trying to stay connected to Snafu but compelled at his inner sensations and - damned if he wasn't also looking a little scared, a kind of scared Snafu actually wasn’t sure he had see before in Sledge, which was a little fucking disturbing and gave Snafu an even stronger resolve to do this. 

Snafu’s hand coaxed Eugene’s shoulder to lead him to rolling toward Snafu, onto his back. Sledge hissed at Snafu's touch and his breath was unsteady as he followed Snafu's guidance, wanting and afraid all at once, each kind of intensity in crescendo and on pace with the other.

"Come on. You gon' get real good sleep tonight," Snafu cooed. Eyes locked with Sledge's, he reached down to wrap his hand around Sledge's hand - the one pumping his cock. Sledge gasped again but nodded at Snafu, made grateful puppy eyes, and seemed to set his fear free, like maybe it just felt that good. The war had done its share to contradict a lifetime of Sunday school lessons. Any surviving shreds were obliterated by the “this feels good and right” doctrine that now and forevermore defined Snafu’s belief system. They harbored as much need as any human beings walking around on the planet at that moment. That had to make this so beyond OK. Sledge slipped his own hand out from under Snafu’s. 

Snafu observed his own lack of shock while he got to pumping his fist at a moderate clip, trying to get the grip just right, figuring out how to map his own personal tricks and likes onto Eugene’s anatomy and responses. A foreign but not so foreign task. Snafu just wanted to make it good for Sledge. And Sledge was easy, or maybe Snafu was good. Sledge quickly got to muffling moans and making little hip bucks. Snafu felt elevated to watch Eugene feeling selfishly good. Sledge finally opened his eyes and reached out to grip Snafu’s collar, gently tugging at it, not seemingly trying to bring Snafu down from his sitting position. Snafu reached to Eugene’s shoulder for a little leverage, but also made some brief explorations cupping the back of Eugene’s head or neck. But mostly, Snafu was fascinated to watch his hand and listen to Eugene's grunts and sighs.

“Shelton,” Sledge eventually whined urgently, anticipating. Snafu took it as great glory, as a sign that Sledge was seeing the promised land on the horizon so just started working him a little faster. “Oh, jesus…oh….ungh….Shelton, fuck…oh, god,” Sledge chanted and got more urgently wiggly. “Oh…Oh…come on, Snafu, oh, ohjesus…”

“Come on yourself, Sledgehamma,” Snafu joked and cheered Sledge on at the same time. “That feelin’ good? Yeah, Eugene, yeah. Let it feeeeeeel good.” He hollowed his voice and tried to haunt Sledge with it, to get into his bones and let it be the thing holding him up, holding him together, renewing him from the inside out.

Snafu was so entranced and intent on the goal, riding the intensity wave, he did not see it coming at all when Sledge suddenly hauled himself upright, pushed Snafu’s hand away, and pulled him into a full embrace with a full-on-lips kiss, the one Snafu figured Sledge didn’t want. Snafu at first couldn’t understand how a man so close to getting off could want to pause and…kiss? But yeah, like jacking off Sledge with his hand felt surprisingly natural, this was just fine too. It was intense and dangerous as hell. Right in the moment, actually. It was an exchange of the acceptance of this intimacy, of their intense bond and desire to express it, to care for each other, to hold onto each other this way, to verify no one else understood what they did, and to aggressively claim what they deserved.

When Sledge needed to breathe (as Snafu had no knowledge of air for the moment), he released Snafu slightly, and between gasps rambled in the most earnest desire Snafu had ever heard, “I’ll rest, Snafu….I’ll rest easiest if I…I mean…”and he kissed Snafu again, who again just let it happen, continuously stunned at Sledge's leadership in this. “This feels good, don’t it? …I just thought…would you…”

Snafu saw Eugene as kind of stuck again, but emitting so much need that like a rubber band pulled back and released, Snafu rapidly - without warning even to himself, it seemed – had to barrel them both sideways. He rolled so he was over Sledge once again, kissing this time, and also licking and sucking Sledge’s neck and rubbing scalp and chest with his hands, gripping his open collar and shirt flaps, his cheeks, and most helplessly, grinding his hips, his throbbing erection, into Sledge’s body, against his erection, against anything he could get traction on.

“Snaf…Merriell…oh…oh God…” Sledge chanted on and on, sometimes trying to reach down to his own cock, sometimes trying to reach and rub against Snafu’s dungarees. Snafu could not stay still to entertain Sledge’s meeker attempts. He just needed to work all over Sledge, touch as much as possible, returning to work Sledge’s cock in his hand most of the time, but now doing so in a context of greater vulnerability – with kissing – a more wide open channel for Snafu to send his need and absorb back Eugene’s. There was no stopping till both jobs were done. There was no real end in sight to that process, but Snafu didn’t need to know that just then. 

Then, Snafu became aware that there was a surprisingly directive theme emerging from Sledge’s mouth. “Come on, Snafu…ok….will ya…can I get you to….do what you said you’d do? Oh please…hhhhhh….oh please, not if you don’t really want, but I…I…ungh….I’ve wanted…so many times…now here we are…”

Snafu had slowed his kissing and grinding and became aware Sledge was applying a gentle downward pressure on him, on the top of his head, on his back, shoulders. Snafu stopped entirely when he figured it out, looked up from Eugene’s clavicle to meet his singing gaze. Snafu raised one eyebrow at him, chuckled at how Eugene Sledge had been the one to think Snafu might suck his cock. 

It was too late to draw a line now. He didn’t have need for any lines anyway since he would do anything to bring Sledge some peace. He had the salty sandy taste of Sledge all over his tongue already – why not a little more, especially if he empathically knew it would be - he hoped - really really good for Sledge. 

“Yeah, Eugene, yeah," Snafu assured him, still slow and drawling, but while gasping it’s a different animal to hear. “Ain’ gonna take long ‘nyways,“ he grinned, as he groped and licked his way down Sledge’s bone-and-muscle, thin, rippled body, minding any cuts, any sores. Snafu knew in advance all of them. He sent one hand ahead to get bearings on Eugene’s cock to guide his mouth to it. Sledge got back to chanting, somehow sounding more urgent, but also grateful and the deed wasn’t even done yet. 

Snafu closed his eyes once pretty much there and guided himself to where his hand was. He kept being shocked at his lack of shock, amusing himself as he traversed all this weird new ground. He found getting Sledge’s hard cock past his lips as easy as kissing him had been. Particularly as Sledge seemed to really really like it, was hyperventilating, uttering phonemes and nothing else resembling language for the most part. 

As he let Sledge slide into his mouth further, then out a little to let the spit spread a bit, back in further hitting the roof of his mouth, out again for his lips to slick up, and again, and again, adjusting his head position….as Eugene’s surprisingly smooth cock was in his mouth, he knew the warmth and sense of enclosure for Sledge could be ludicrously good. He knew it viscerally, and could hear it in Sledge's chanting, plus Sledge even managed some real words: "...never felt...nothing that good..." Snafu marveled at the delicate balance inherent to this interaction, being all worked up himself but trusted to keep the scraping from his teeth just light enough, his tongue pressing just so. He felt Eugene straining, pressing in a little more than Snafu was really allowing but it was all working. They found their rhythm in this, too. 

And then Sledge went silent, grabbed Snafu by the hair and pulled him off, grabbed his own dick and worked it hard as he came, coming even faster than Snafu had predicted. Sledge kneaded and fisted Snafu’s hair in his other hand. Snafu had just sort of pushed back and up a little, squat-sitting with his face right about a foot from Eugene’s cock still, feeling some relief through Sledge; but also aware he was going to have to get busy on himself right away. He didn’t know if he should touch Eugene as he came, but he ran one hand up and down his body because he couldn’t not touch. 

As Eugene slowed, gasping, seemingly over the intensity hump, Snafu scooted up and put a hand in Eugene’s hair. Snafu was a little worried he might get a repeat meltdown release type event out of Sledge next, though maybe it would be good for Sledge, he hoped selfishly he could at least hold off 2-3 minutes. Mercifully, Eugene merely looked lazily at Snafu, not about to move anything he didn’t have to, and said surprisingly plainly, “I have never felt anything so amazing in my whole life.”

Snafu was thrilled to know it, to see Sledge blissed out and not crying. But most of all, Snafu was really dominated by having to hold back how badly he, too, needed release now, wanting basically to fuck into a tree at that point – that being the only thing nearby he could imagine might be able to take what he felt he needed to give. “Damn right you haven’t,” Snafu smiled, teeth gritting together.

Sledge torturously pulled Snafu down for a slow kiss, almost killing him, but he let Sledge have his afterglow because that seemed a fair part of the deal, didn't want to push him even though he really really absolutely was going to explode in just a few more seconds. Snafu pulled away after a respectable moment, and then, he just had to get his pants off. Limit reached. Had. To. Had to hurry and start touching himself, not just Sledge, ‘cause that was not making waiting easier. 

Sledge monitored Snafu intently, and started slowly sitting up. “I gotta return the favor,” he smiled a little nervously. Snafu took Sledge’s verbal offer like it was rocket fuel with which he could finish whipping his pants off and start rubbing, loving the intention and completely not there with Sledge’s pace. Nice as it sounded, there was no waiting for Sledge to recover, to sit up all the way, to work through whatever inhibitions he might run into.

“You…can just rest,” Snafu managed, getting there, getting there, getting there, looking at Eugene, riding the hot intensity of getting him to pop off moments ago, totally OK with this.

“No, wait,” Sledge chuckled, getting that he needed to get with the program but still only slowly rolling sideways to get up, fighting his body. Snafu knew Sledge would be pretty good at fighting his body – they all were, practically by definition as Marines - but he just wasn’t going to catch up. Sledge kept coming at him but Snafu was miles ahead. ”Just let me see…” Sledge began.

“Oh, fuck, Eugene,” Snafu gasped, tortured as Sledge had managed to get to where he was sort of hovering over but not moving, just looking boyish and asking for help and permission and this was going to take toooooo long. Unless…“You can…ung…you....”

“What?” Sledge asked earnestly. “What? This?” and Sledge reached for Snafu’s cock.

Snafu slapped it away, “No,” and then rose up on his knees, “but…if you want, hit the deck" and he pushed gently with his free hand at Eugene's shoulder to get him to flip over. Panting and mostly not having to stop pumping (but ARGH when he had to in order to see if he could orchestrate this), Snafu said, “Yeah….it’s not what you think, don’t worry, just lay…hug the deck…yeah…that’s what you can do…just…be right there. Don’t worry.” Snafu beamed at his extra intense fucking brilliant idea he just got for how Sledge could help, if he wanted to.

“Not worried,” Sledge whispered, settling in on his stomach, arm resting under his face.

“Don’t worry…not gonna do what you might think. Just let me…" and with that Snafu stopped pumping and instead leaned down onto Sledge and rutted his dick against Sledge’s ass, moaning loudly at first and quickly tamping his volume down. He didn’t make moves other than to get the friction, the rubbing, the warmth, the contact. "Jus' this, Sledgehamma," he panted and whispered, licking Sledge's neck and back as he neared them with his presses forward. “Oh, that feels so fucking goooood.”

Snafu hissed and laughed and thanked God for some reason, as he held onto Sledge’s hips. He saw Sledge smiling a little, looking sideways, letting Snafu do what he wanted. After just a little bit of that fun, of that connection, of that amazing display of trust and willingness and full warm body contact, Snafu pulled up, and resumed jacking his own cock. He pleaded, as he had little time left but a clear idea of how to end it really good, “Now, Sledgehamma, …OK if you jus…just stay there, Sledgehamma? Ok if you just stay there, hugging that deck?…just let me…." Snafu pushed the fabric of Sledge’s shirt up toward his head as he asked, exposing as much of his back as he could reach.

Sledge stayed relaxed down, body pressed to the earth, hands folded under his cheek, eyes closed, nodding, smiling just a little. 

A second later Snafu’s entire wide world narrowed to just the wildly good intense feeling of his orgasm shooting through him, and out, muscles locking him in place on his knees over Sledge, whose name he hissed in short form, "Gene!" Snafu watched as best he could through his own squint in total amazement as hot spurts shot out of his cock and landed across Sledge’s buttocks and back. Sledge shuddered a little when it first hit but that was all. In fact, Snafu thought he even heard Sledge make a happy-sounding sigh as the white tacky strands shot out. Snafu got a little light-headed from the rush of that dense compact energy cut loose into the ether from his core. 

He knew it was going to feel good to release; doing it that way with Sledge felt like some miracle bonus, some intensely affirmative connection he hadn't planned on. He had suddenly felt like trying it, and it seemed like maybe a little piece of himself that otherwise was lost was returned to him, crazy and unconnected as that all seemed.

Snafu remained locked until gasping gave way to just heavy breathing and he folded down to sit on his feet, then sat for a moment panting, taking in the pattern of white streaks and blobs all over Sledge.

"Write your name, did ya?" Sledge joked, words slow, easy, unconcerned about drips or ignorant questions about dignity.

"Yeah, Gene," Snafu grinned, pulling his own shirt off to wipe Sledge's back. "I wrote Cary Motherfucking Grant right here." 

Sledge laughed and seemed inclined to stay put, cheek resting on the blades of grass that sparsely managed to live there on the beach. Snafu got his pants back on, helped Sledge with his so he didn’t have to get up, and resigned readily to lying down, collapsing onto his stomach next to Eugene. The orgasm had spent him thoroughly, had scraped the bottom of his proverbial barrel. They looked at each other, enjoying the pretend physical helplessness. Snafu saw gratitude and somberness and peace and exhaustion all at once on Sledge’s face. He reached out and put a hand on Sledge’s back, kept eyes locked with Sledge. 

“We gon’ sleep real good now,” Snafu slurred.

Sledge nodded but said, not really with any conviction, “Maybe we should head back.”

Snafu did not remember seeing Sledge close his eyes and drift off to sleep or anything else. Many guys in the unit at that moment had been asleep for hours. Even so, Sledge and Snafu were about to set the unit record for most consecutive hours of sleep anyone got in the last month.

*******

Snafu woke up alone to a chilly sunless morning. 

He attempted to medicate the pit in his stomach with a chain of cigarettes as he went to report in and busy himself lightly with eating and pretending to sort and count ammo and supplies or what the fuck ever it was he got asked to do. He was in a haze, like a lot of other guys.

He eventually saw Sledge some distance away out on a work detail, digging. They saw each other - that's all Snafu was sure of.

They were around each other just before midday, falling into their usual groupings. They treated each other regularly, though it didn’t feel regular. Sledge hadn't provided Snafu with anything to go on. He was masterfully avoiding any kind of private eye contact, but OK with whatever happened in the safety of a group. He didn't seem shaken or particularly relaxed. He couldn't possibly have been so drunk he didn't remember. Part of “normal” was to tease each other publicly about being lightweights with the booze, readily acknowledging they slept on the beach all night. Everyone knew it. That by itself was no big deal. Everyone had a little story to share about Bergin’s canteens. 

Snafu wondered what compelled Sledge to leave the beach without him, why not stay till he woke up, or give him a shoulder push sometime in the morning while milling around, something where the signal would have been a little clearer. Sledge had been cordial all morning, sure; but, regrets? Plans? 

Snafu wasn’t really aware of any of these thoughts in clear-cut, well-formulated bullet points. What he knew was that he just ached.

Some pain had to be from being only a day's distance from a month of slugging it out on the front lines amidst some of the most intense shell exchanges of the war and in some of the nastiest conditions imaginable, not lying down to sleep ever. Some pain had to be from the constant trickle of bad news about casualties. Some was from the way groups kept getting ordered back out to sniff out enemy pockets, the perfect “I told you so” for any optimism that the end of fear had arrived. He'd slept well, yes; he'd spent himself, yes; he'd played need exchange with Sledge, yes; he sucked off another man and didn't hate it, yes. Even if he had won the "get out of the war for free and get cigarettes, steaks, and clean sheets for life” lottery - he was still not exactly gonna bounce back. 

Snafu didn’t enumerate much of this in his head, either. Instead, he came to know the ache was mostly just a single desperately whispered word: more.

As the guys they were sitting around started peeling off for this and that, Sledge seemed to know the plan. Of course he did. Wait everyone out, let them disperse, decline all invitations, until it was just Snafu and Sledge left kicking at pebbles. In the five minute eternity that passed when they were finally alone, Sledge started to break his poker face, alternating apprehensive and hopeful, and then he planted his feet and squared off facing Snafu. Snafu had mostly just been staring downward and aching, but was also comforted to see Sledge struggling with what to say, knowing Sledge would say something and he needn’t worry about it. 

When Snafu registered Sledge’s stillness, he looked up and was caught by a stony gaze. Sledge’s hands were on his hips and he took a deep breath in. "Shelton," the wordsmith of the two began, but then nodded as if saying, “No, no, no,” eyes heavenward, struggling for what next. 

Snafu’s throat did all it could to keep his heart from leaping out. 

Then, in a fluid movement, Sledge stepped toward Snafu and whispered, “Come ‘ere,” grabbing Snafu's forearm and yanking. Snafu was thrust into Sledge’s chest, and Sledge exaggerated their height difference by wrapping both arms around Snafu's head tentatively, until Snafu reflexively wrapped his arms around Sledge’s ribs and held on for dear life. Sledge squeezed back, and fuck all if Snafu found that breathing nothing but Sledge into his lungs and that knowing he could lift his feet off the ground and Sledge wouldn’t falter….FUCK ALL if that didn’t make Snafu’s eyes water. Snafu reveled in the tight, choking, clinging hug. It wasn’t desperate. It was consuming. It felt so fucking good to be lost this way. Was there any possibility that this moment and feeling would never end, that all of life before this moment and the war out there were something like a bad dream given how incompatible it seemed for these two realities to co-exist in one universe? 

Now that was some seriously fucked up dangerous thinking. 

Each time Snafu shuddered in a sob or a breath holding back the harder sobs, Sledge squeezed firmer, somehow. It worked. Snafu held on, got to where he could breathe steady, boxed the wilder emotions back up. But then a fresh challenge presented as Snafu became aware of a tingle in his gut and his erection, and Sledge’s. They both pulled back and end up pressing foreheads together, chuckling and muttering curses, and helplessly rubbing against each other, quickly transforming the somber seriousness of connecting and confirming into excited want. It was a second slice of heaven Snafu hadn’t gotten around to hoping for once the embrace had made time stand still. 

Unfortunately, voices were heard nearby, so Sledge released Snafu and hit the deck, sitting with his knees up. Going commando was now going to be a bit of a problem for walking around camp. They cursed some more, laughed uncomfortably, adjusted crotches, shook heads, knowing this particular moment was just going to have to pass. It was unfortunate, but not unmanageable. Snafu’s chest felt like it was stuffed, in a good way. 

Sledge took discipline pretty seriously. Other than disobeying some green officer’s cease fire order while there were still visible living Japs to kill, he wasn’t going to be open to just any diversion Snafu might have suggested. Sledge calculated risk conservatively. Snafu really wasn’t that much of a rebel either, in actual deed; he just talked enough shit most people didn’t realize the truth of it. But for the remainder of their day, Snafu was constantly calculating the odds of getting away with going off to different possible hiding spots where he might throw Sledge down and go at it some more. Sledge was watchful, too, but he never seemed close to suggesting anything; not as close as Snafu felt. 

But in the end, the day just did not offer a chance. Bedding down that evening was fucking miserable. It killed Snafu when Sledge whispered in comment, not request, as he stumbled past on his way to his spot in their group tent, “I could sure do with your help over here.” Snafu was still painfully awake when he became aware through the darkness that Sledge was working rhythmically. Oh, it hurt like hell, but Snafu reasoned it was better than nothing to go ahead and bring himself off to the dim sight and rare sounds of Sledge doing the same. Snafu wondered if Sledge was thinking of Snafu's mouth on him, if Sledge would ever follow-up on his willingness to "return the favor." 

The next day K Company got ordered back into the nonsense like others had been, facing skirmishes with tough hold-outs and snipers. There was no organized massive shelling, and psychologically it was not quite the same since the Americans had a growing feeling they had “won,” but knowing the Japanese soldiers even in a no-win situation would fight to the death, there was little to relax over. Still, Snafu had room for awareness of his urges and desires; the floodgate had been opened and couldn’t be shut again. His and Sledge’s appetites would have been sizable just given demographic factors, but it seemed doubly pre-occupying given how rewarding and confusingly restorative an orgasm near and with Sledge had been. Plus, being stripped of many other usual satisfactions of civilized living compelled Snafu to try to claim this one. In the group life of an enlisted man in an uncivilized theater of war, it was lunacy to expect privacy. Hell, most regulations existed to obliterate the idea. Still, Snafu and Sledge continued to share glances and considered looks each time a new movement was ordered or an opportunity to go off and do anything came up. 

Finally, side by side and without talking, they came to a mutual judgment of safety in a spot up some hills near a road the company was taking a few hours break on. They'd gone off to scout and spot positions. 

Sledge slowed as he looked around, then turned around to face Snafu, who'd just finished scanning, too, and was already tossing his rifle on the ground. "Here," Sledge said, a little bit asking, but not really, as he stepped toward Snafu.

"Mmm-hmmmm," Snafu agreed, seeing eagerness and darkening in Sledge as he drew closer, tossing his rifle down as well.

Snafu waiting for Sledge to get near enough and when he could, he grabbed his shirt collar with both hands and turned and pressed him into a tree with a kiss and the entire rest of his body. Sledge’s helmet thudded against the tree but he didn’t seem to mind as he gripped each side of Snafu’s head. It was a nice feeling for a moment, but Snafu was about to jump out of his skin with total want, total need to both give and receive. Snafu reached down to open up Sledge's dungarees, past Sledge’s re-adopted underwear, and grabbed his hard cock and started jerking him off. Even if they’d had the luxury of time, Snafu had no patience. It was not worthwhile to expend energy holding back the avalanche of need that was being unleashed and rippling under his skin all the time now. He was treading in his own personal vast ocean of need, and he saw the same in Sledge’s eyes. There was no time to waste - they were close to drowning.

Sledge gasped and helplessly ceded to Snafu’s attentions to his dick for a moment. He opened his eyes though, and saw Snafu trying with his one available hand to open his own pants up, so Sledge dove in with both hands to help, looking sheepish but eager. Snafu liked it but the whole thing wasn’t good enough, so he pushed them apart saying, "Let’s just each drop our own drawers, get it done.” 

“Yeah,” Eugene said, taking his jacket off to spread on the ground before dropping his drawers and sitting down on it. 

“Worried about keeping your ass clean for a change?” Snafu grinned.

“Git down here,” Sledge commanded, not too much in the joking mood.

Snafu did the spatial math and pulled off one shoe so he could pull his pants off that leg and sling it over Sledge's lap, putting them in ridiculously different intimacy than ever before. It made for comfortable mutual manual range and Sledge was plowing right through any reservations he may have had far more effectively than Snafu expected, no alcohol required. He was a tad tentative, but it seemed just out of inexperience. To Snafu’s knowledge, Sledge had scarcely done much with a girl, let alone this. 

They reached for each other at about the same time but Snafu's eyes rolled back at Sledge's first grip on his cock and all he could do was hang on motionless to Sledge. Sledge’s hand was delightfully warm, though too gentle and unsure, but still a kind of heaven. "Oh my God!" Snafu moaned. For the first time in (fuck!) years he had someone else working his dick. It was priceless, exquisite. 

When Snafu opened eyes to see Sledge, he caught the tail of the change from uncertain concentration to impressed and pleased. Then Snafu started pumping his hand over Sledge’s hard cock again, which had started leaking. 

"How...how'm I doin'?" Sledge worked to spit out, getting around his own sensations.

Snafu hadn’t planned to say anything as he didn’t want to scare off Sledge with any complaints on the first go, but... "Squeeze harder, Sledgehamma...oh fuck, yeah…harder, go ahead…ahhhhhh." Snafu choked as Sledge's masterful, strong hands delivered on all their promises from all the times Snafu had taken note of them. 

Snafu responded with a more vigorous pump and firmer grip on Sledge. In typical joyful, youthful competitive fashion, they worked over each other’s hard-ons – hard and fast, harder and faster – arms crossed in perfect arrangement. Hands worked over the head, twisting, repeating, working the shaft vigorously, emphasizing pressure through the thumb and long middle finger loop. Snafu made sure to let Sledge know when he was really liking it, shaping it into something that felt good to something that felt amazing. It had just been sooooo long, and it was so intense and rough, a total indulgence to pursue and plan to attain satisfaction. 

Snafu mused how similar this was to his imagination that night in the foxhole, and loved it all the more, laughing at how another crazy thing he did somehow worked out for him.

There was only time for a few such wandering thoughts between the wonderful sensations and then Snafu gasped, “You close, Eugene?” concentrating more cerebrally for a moment, trying to hang on. Sledge nodded quickly. Throwing his head back and releasing any concentration, Snafu said, “Good, cause…I’m….UNGH!” Snafu’s voice raised in pitch as he spurted, and Sledge came a couple seconds after Snafu’s initial groan with a throaty grunt. 

After containing their breathing and riding out all the waves, guiding each other for slowing down and letting go, Sledge grabbed a spare sock out of a pocket for clean up. “Be prepared,” he joked.

“Fuck that.” Snafu tackled Sledge, smushing their bodies together front to front, pinning Sledge and smearing all their spunk together, over each others’ pants and shirt bottoms. Not that they had taken all that much care to begin with. Snafu was intending to just be gross and obnoxious, livened up by the thrill of finally getting Sledge to touch him. “Soak it in, Sledgehamma,” he kidded, offering no kisses, no nuzzling, just light wrestling. Snafu was taken off guard, however, by the warmth of Sledge’s body. It was unbelievably comforting, even though Sledge was squirming and protesting (not too seriously). Snafu sighed loudly in mock satisfaction swimming on top of the goo between them, carrying on with the joke but, really, he just wanted to nap as the post-orgasm slump and the soothing calm of Sledge’s heartbeat and his muscular solidness took more and more of his attention. They both slowly stopped squirming and Snafu placed his face into Eugene’s neck to breath. Sledge put one hand on Snafu's back, one in his hair.

Snafu didn’t know what happened – he suddenly came to hearing, “Snaf, wake up. Wake up. I gotta hit the head.” Sledge started extracting himself from under Snafu, rolling him aside, but there was no eagerness in it. It just had to be done. Snafu stood and joined Sledge in a quick pipe cleaning, asking and finding out he’d only slept about 5 minutes. Side by side they relieved themselves like a million times before. But now, it was a tad gigglier.

*****

When the official Japanese surrender was announced, Snafu expressed quiet relief shrouded in disbelief, like all the experienced guys in the Company. It was nice to think there could well be a time in the near future in which they would not have to have their asses shot at all the time, but Japanese surrender could not possibly mean the Japanese soldiers in the caves on the island were about to change their minds about preferring death to anything short of winning. They’d been pretty clear about that. Still, the surrender brought questions to mind about what might change. Snafu exchanged an uncomfortable initial stare with Eugene when the news came through. Eugene looked away first. 

Hopes for any merciful Hawaii trip were dashed as K Company quickly received orders to spend the next several weeks going over the island reclaiming larger brass shell casings and burying Jap corpses. Didn’t that beat all. It was insulting beyond belief. They had sacrificed so much, and were rewarded with this miserable duty. But at the same time, Snafu secretly took comfort in the injustice. The familiar supply line of bullshit had not been shut off; the surreal world he had inhabited for the last three years wasn’t about to vanish. And it wasn’t as if leaving the island was a 100% welcome idea, as he really had no idea how he would survive peacetime as such a moral orphan for so many reasons, which was saying something coming from the Big Easy. 

Sledge was mortified by the orders to clean up the island, too, but would volunteer an understanding of the good in it and was among those Marines hushing the grumblers and protesters who were about to be punished for insubordination if they didn’t shut their yaps and move out. Shell gathering and body burial went along with continued weeding out Japanese soldiers, so surrender be damned, the shit was not really over and it made sense to send an experienced rifle company to handle the job. Sure, a rifle company could just do security while rear echelon guys got their hands dirty with a shovel, for Pete’s sake. That might have worked fine. But best not to dwell on that. Or the special sense of pointlessness with any casualty they incurred post-VJ Day. Just follow orders, as always.

As the Company carried out their mission, they found life improved relative to before surrender, as they could usually find clean enough places to exist and supplies were easy to come by. The whole thing was a kinder pace and allowed for continual if informal R&R. 

About a week after the Japanese surrender, Snafu and Sledge went with a squad to verify a farm cottage and the farm’s other dilapidated structures were clear. After an incident-free patrol around the area, Snafu and Sledge dragged their feet heading back to base camp, which no one else in the party took as odd, as they knew Sledge might want to stop and write some notes, and they knew Snafu was his buddy and that was that. Replacements were easy to make buzz off.

Sledge and Snafu took up under sweet smelling pines surrounded by soft, dry grass in a warm late afternoon sun. Each man leaned against the same tree trunk, legs extended and comprising together a 90 degree angle. Snafu smoked as he watched the other guys disappear from view as they crossed the fields, which took several minutes. Eugene was indeed writing as he smoked his pipe. It was all just so goddamned pleasant. Snafu couldn’t see a time in his life when he wouldn’t savor a moment of peace while mistrusting it at the same time, but he needed to take what he could. 

He needed. They’d been in motion on patrols for a few days with no chances at privacy. There were daily incidents with hold-out Japs requiring grenades and fire tanks, and more than a little adrenaline. Just yesterday Sledge pulled Snafu to the right side of a knoll, saving his ass yet again. And then there were the corpses - they shoveled over like 15 of those stinking stiffs. Everything about it had been such a kick in the head. 

Snafu tossed his cigarette butt, sat up, glanced sideways toward Eugene as he had a thousand times to eye Eugene’s notes, and tried to transmit his impatience. Snafu’s need was aware that indulgence was at hand, making it all the more powerful, heating him up thoroughly. Sledge’s calm dignity matched the bucolic scene and that was kind of beautiful and compelling and Snafu wanted to dive into it, dump a truckload of need on it and see if it could evaporate.

Snafu crept closer to Sledge and said quietly, “You know what, Eugene? Nothing important happened today.” In the sun, Sledge appeared to Snafu as a golden, hardened creature, looking a little curious but not too terribly surprised to be chided yet again for his writing habit. He sighed, but allowed Snafu to gently persuade his notes and pipe to the ground. Snafu shifted to face Sledge squarely, hunched on his knees. Sledge did not move but did take on and reflect Snafu’s intensity.

Snafu reached slowly up, softly ran fingers through Eugene’s hairline, dragged lightly around his ear, then palmed his clean shaven cheek and ran his thumb delicately over Eugene’s lower lip. Eugene closed eyes serenely, gave a little exhale at the lip touch and opened eyes to plead with Snafu that he not stop. Snafu wasn't so lost in the warm sun that he didn't scold himself, thinking he must be a damned fool to get swept up into the moment. Still, he didn’t stop. He leaned in and kissed Sledge, real slow and real gentle. His brain melted into his boondockers as Eugene reached out to comb through Snafu’s curly hair, opening up the kiss, all so unhurried. 

They treated each other like porcelain, which was funny, because recent months had proven that actually they were each made of shrapnel-repellant miracle steel. 

“I think we’re pretty safe now,” Snafu said a little shaky, holding himself in Sledge’s face, drinking him in, still cupping his cheek. “You think so?”

Sledge nodded affirmative, now looking more eager than serene.

Snafu slid his hands down to work at untucking Sledge's shirt, opening his pants, and rubbing over his underwear. As he did, Sledge hummed in approval right into Snafu's continually massaging mouth, sending vibrations straight down through to Snafu’s cock. He wasn’t too sure he could keep the slow and gentle pace going much longer. 

Just as Snafu was wrestling with himself over the pace, Sledge expressed his own ideas, whether from his brain or elsewhere. Snafu didn't much need to track it down. He just loved Sledge suddenly pushing him onto his back and climbing on top. Sledge started grinding as he kissed and sucked on Snafu's neck. Snafu moaned, grinded back, grabbed Eugene's hips in a mostly futile attempt to enhance the grind. Sledge hissed a little pathetically, eyes closed, then stopped. He lifted up to look at Snafu and raise his eyebrows, as if asking if Snafu was ready for something. Snafu wanted any damn thing to be happening along the spectrum of friction for him, and for Sledge to be getting whatever he wanted. Sledge apparently saw what he needed and sprang into action. 

“Pants off,“ Sledge commanded as he reached into a pouch on his belt. Snafu cocked an eyebrow and grinned suspiciously but obliged, and Sledge took his pants off, too. Snafu saw Sledge had a brown vial about three centimeters long and maybe a centimeter in diameter. Snafu was closer to coming apart with want, witnessing Eugene's increasingly free behavior and maybe some kind of plan. Sledge rolled them on their sides facing each other, aligned just so, and opened the little bottle while propped on his elbow. He poured a dime-sized amount of clear liquid into his own cupped palm. 

“What the hell you doin, Sledgehamma? The hell is that?” Snafu was compelled to ask, smiling, not alarmed in the least, sniffing a little but not picking up any scent. 

“Get that lid, will ya?” Sledge smiled out one side of his mouth. 

Snafu obliged, twisting the lid back on as Sledge held the bottle. “This some kind a’ rifle oil?”

Once closed, Sledge tossed the bottle aside, rubbed his index finger through it to spread it around his palm. “Remember that hut with the medicines? That old lady there? She gave this to me.” Sledge took their leaky cocks together in that same hand side by side. His eyes bright with anticipation, he started stroking them together with his long, strong fingers getting around them both easily and spreading the oily liquid. Snafu was loving it - It felt really nice, and it was really fucking fantastic that Sledge had provisioned an enhancer for them. Snafu couldn’t find a shelf in his brain for that one yet. 

Then, there was an unmistakable warmth that had Snafu thanking Sledge's Jesus with no irony whatsoever. He moaned, one hand propping up his head. "Eugene...oh my God, that's real good." He was smiling, relaxed, laughing a little. Then he popped up a little off the hand he’d rested his head on. “’s not gonna turn our peckers green is it?” he joked, knowing Sledge was beyond trustworthy on these and any important matters.

“Tested it myself,” he sighed happily.

“With th’ol’ lady? You dirty bastard,” Snafu teased, flopping his neck back in ecstasy to look skyward, sighing.

Sledge let Snafu’s cock slip from his grip and rolled a bit away, kept working just himself. “Noooo,” he kidded as if innocently, “Just did it like this. Mmmmmmmm…Oh…niiiiiiice,” he carried on, teasing.

“You don’ grab up my dick in the next 5 seconds, then by God, I will beat your ass once you're done beatin' off,” Snafu confessed, only half joking in his lurch, watching Sledge pleasure himself and mouth off about liking it.

“Alright,” Sledge smiled, seemed to relish the moment of bringing relief (nevermind he caused a little of the trouble), and rolled back into Snafu to grab their cocks together again to continue the side by side rubbing. They breathed heavily together. After a bit, as it got more serious, Sledge said in a low voice and with no eye contact, “No old ladies, Shelton. No one else…. You know that, right? No one else.”

Snafu nodded, heart and chest probing forward, wanting to lose boundaries with Sledge. Hearing the possessiveness from Eugene and rubbing cocks in a slick warmth were nice boundary blurs. Snafu’s want kept climbing up all over itself; the more it got, the more it wanted. 

Snafu wasn’t quite aware he was about to talk, but he was soon compelled to say, "'s good, Gene, but...give me something more.” 

"More, huh?" Sledge smiled and worked their dicks together a little harder. 

Snafu was put on Earth to say things languidly, and he fulfilled this mission when he next found himself saying, "You wanna jus’ go ahead and fuck me, Eugene?"

Snafu had lived through three major, much longer and costlier than predicted battles; Sledge through two of these with him. They had helped save half the world at a high personal cost. All by itself that should have meant they get “Do what you want” cards for life. Now, they were literally engaged in healing the battleground itself. The land they brought hell to was where they were burying the ghastliest evidence and collecting up the most destructive elements of that terrible time. They were earning back their humanity whether they liked it or not. Snafu, in fact, did not like it, as he still hated the Japanese and did not grant them any pardons or membership in the human race. Hated himself in a similar way. There was no undoing what was done. But wanting to be fucked by Eugene was some weird hybrid of feeling past the point of no return and asking to get pushed off a cliff anyway to see if there was any saving grace it in, by virtue of Sledge being the one to do it. Also, maybe it was an answer for some of Sledge’s direst needs and nastiest demons, since Sledge could still feel in a human way. At least, it could be a nice test of these theories that, for fuck’s sake, really should not have made any sense to anyone. 

Sledge was pretty much in suspended animation at the suggestion. Snafu added, “Come on, you’re the one got this magic potion. Can't tell me the thought didn't cross your mind. So,” he gripped Sledge's forearm, "please. Do it, Sledge. Go on." Snafu’s voice faltered as he listened to himself, like his own ears could not handle all the desperation pouring out. “Fuck me.”

Snafu reached for the little bottle in the grass above their heads and then handed it to Sledge. When Sledge went to speak his words held all the intensity and pressure of a man who was holding up a dam with his back, his whole body, all his strength. “You sure?” He was panting, vein popping out of his forehead.

Snafu nodded calmly, hands rubbing over his own face casually, shifting the leg that was farther from Eugene up into a bent position. “Not saying I know just how it’ll all go, Eugene,” he added, “But yeah, do that,” he encouraged as Sledge re-applied oil to his cock and was sure the fingers of one hand had some to spare. Snafu’s heart raced but he felt at peace at the same time, having put himself in Sledge’s hands. He threw all his vulnerability out there for Sledge to know about, all his want, and, really, Snafu couldn’t seem to stop his mouth anyway. “I just wanna fucking feel, see you working hard, sweating, loving it, if you do. Probably you will, I imagine. So go ahead, Sledgehamma. Please. Please.”

Coming off the double-cock heated hand job, it wasn’t like Sledge was starting at zero, and Snafu was pouring it on thick with his words. Sledge was fumbly, struggling to check his desire against being mindful of Snafu's experience, as much as he could. Sledge hovered over Snafu and reached between Snafu’s legs, dragged fingers over his balls, further and further till he got where he needed to be. Sledge rubbed with the oil on his fingers against Snafu's hole, and Snafu squirmed, cleared his throat, braced but also worked hard to send Sledge the message that he wanted this. Sledge pressed one finger in just to the first knuckle, as if to just map the spot for himself, not sure what to do, appearing overwhelmed, perplexed, and yet nothing had changed his apparent need to try this. Snafu found it to be a completely insane breach of his normal, containing a promise of the intensity he craved, of confusing himself with Sledge. 

Sledge then moved to press his dick against Snafu’s hole. It might have seemed impossible with their uneducated approach, but two well-trained Marine war veterans knew more secrets about the limits of the human body than anyone, and it gave them resolve to stick with this idea and make it happen. 

After a little bit of wanting and not getting, Snafu said, "Go on, push," giving Sledge the permission he needed. Sitting on a mountain of anticipatory need, it seemed, Sledge had little trouble being forceful once given the green light. 

There was nothing like that searing initial pain, but Sledge looked so amazed at the same time that it was worth it. The pain faded to some kind of release as Snafu's body accommodated Eugene, who was grunting and switching between pushing in way too slowly to way too hard. Snafu tried issuing instructions - "Wait, ok...more, ok, go on, ah...damn, Sledgehammer... I am no queer but FUCK this is…this is fucking something." He got a chuckle out of Sledge and that was really good, too.

Snafu could tell Eugene had gotten in somewhat but not all the way, not because he could feel it, not having a clue about that, but because he could see Eugene holding back, even as he looked stunned and overwhelmed in an alive kind of way. It was so completely worth it, whatever else happened.

Snafu adjusted his legs around Sledge and wriggled a little. "Alright, Sledgehamma. Here you are now. Fuck me." Eugene moved some, mouth open and still in some shock but clearly straining. "I said, fuck me Eugene. Ain't got all day," Snafu choked, dark grin, low voice, gritting teeth, sitting up some and pushing his hands into Sledge's pects to work against him, wiggling more, making as if it wasn’t that completely overpowering a sensation.

Sledge let out a deep breath and pushed in and out a bit, and Snafu's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Sledge worked harder, started sweating, grunting, but he was moving slow.

Snafu saw Sledge was still holding back, and there was no fucking point in this if so. Between Sledge’s too infrequent but still honestly mind-folding thrusts, Snafu growled, "I ain't...gonna break...go on and fuck me! By God, just fuck me, fuck the lights right out of me, will ya? Give me what you got, Sledgehamma! Fuck! Me!" By the end he was yelling like a drill instructor until Sledge finally obliged. 

Sledge slammed into Snafu, who wanted to drink in the sight of Eugene looking so tense for a good reason, overwhelmed with something he had wanted and now had more than he knew what to do with. But Snafu found he couldn't look long. He had to close his eyes and just manage the wild pain-not-pain sensations coursing through, and he had to start jacking himself off too. All of existence in those moments was reduced to the white electricity of feeling filled up, of giving up control, and of an intense happy journey toward relief, which could be tasted it was so near, so real. Snafu figured he was the lucky one in his position with so many sensations going on, which grew better each second, the more he surrendered to it. He was just outright yelling a more or less continuous grunt and Sledge was just panting and sending out huge grunting breaths as he thrust, almost ape like. Losing control was so exciting to hear from Sledge, catch glimpses of how twisted up and astonished Sledge’s face was when Snafu could visually focus for a moment on him.

It was really only a couple of minutes and then both men came in rapid succession - Sledge first, then Snafu.

Breathing heavy, Snafu quipped. "Gon' have to call you Jackhamma now."'

Sledge chuckled at that needed comic break, as he was awfully worked up and serious, watching Snafu with concern until that moment. “I don’t…I can’t…” and he collapsed onto his back. “What am I gonna do?” he asked the sky, probably meaning a hundred different things but not sounding all that serious, not asking anything Snafu felt was for him to answer.

And anyway, Snafu was kind of distracted with feeling how an actual measurable piece of his burden might have lifted. He kept finding a few more pieces of himself every time he was with Sledge, instantly. Maybe he would go home from the war an intact person. Maybe. 

Snafu tried hiding how his body felt pretty fucking weird to him now as he moved around to clean up and get his pants back on. Just doing that much convinced him he needed to not move for a while, and just as he thought of that, Sledge curled up around him, having put his pants back on as well. “Mind if I take ten?” he asked drowsily.

Grabbing a smoke out of the pocket opposite where Sledge pressed against him, Snafu replied easily, “Take all that you can, Sledgehamma.”

*****

Snafu took note of his final footstep in the sand as he lifted away from it, climbing into the small boat. He thought about how he was separating from that murderous genuine hell without leaving any substantial pieces of himself there. Seemed like some kind of violation of nature, one which he would eventually be held accountable for. With the call of duty still thrust upon him, just shifted to another country – China - where dealing with the Japanese was still his fucking problem – he could look forward to still inhabiting his bizarre but comfortable world. So, he could shift into feeling, not just saying, “so long, Okinawa, and fuck you,” which was the far more rational reaction most Marines were having. It had not been his initial feeling when the war was first declared over. But the mission in China was to supervise the repatriation of the Japanese who had occupied it. Repatriate, as opposed to kill. Snafu could only shrug and plan to believe it when he saw it. It was a useful displacement of his need to live on edge, dipped in crazy, and no matter what, be tied to Sledge.

Sledge was ahead of Snafu climbing into the small boat that was to ferry them to the larger one that would chug them all to China. Sledge steadied Snafu as he wobbled from his jump in over the side. They locked eyes. There might have been a hundred things they didn’t dare say, but they were both thinking that no man around them better say a fucking thing aloud about the miracle it was that they made it off in one piece. They weren’t out to sea just yet. There was no end to the tragedies, as long as young men were walking around with guns and hatred. Situation normal…

China turned out to be far better than they thought. The Japanese repatriation project was easy. On top of that, the local citizenry were grateful to the US military, the area K Company was sent to was urban and interesting, liberty to explore was plentiful, and everything Snafu wanted was cheap. Cheap beer, cheap local hot chow, cheap rickshaw rides, and most importantly, cheap private hourly rooms. To reduce suspicions around their use of these latter conveniences, Snafu and Sledge often staggered their returns to the unit by 15 minutes or so, and even sometimes reported "exposed,” enduring the subsequent and totally unnecessary antibiotics. 

So, another way to describe Snafu’s life in China was “god-damned honeymoon.” Snafu wanted to stick a fork in his ear as revenge against his brain for ever thinking that term, but it was apt, so echoed and tumbled around between his ears constantly. The bonds of combat through hell and back, side by side for truly unbelievable hardships and losses, plus activities that qualified as consummation, had joined Snafu to Sledge in some kind of matrimony. Their excursions on liberty passes were either touristy bullshit Sledge dragged Snafu around to (see ancient wonders, eat at restaurants), or more often, they were spent in a room in the seedier parts of town. Proprietors of the right establishments there felt that money was money, and they readily provided a room for two Marines for a price (really not that much). Such proprietors thought it was too bad, from a profit perspective, that the “Joes” said no thank you to any al la carte items like a girl or boy or both, but it was not surprising. 

In luxurious space to moan and move, Snafu and Sledge could explore every inch of each other, desperation melting away with each adventure, replaced by focus on learning each other’s sensitive spots, positions that worked well, and positions that worked incredibly well.

They didn’t talk about it, didn’t ever name what they were doing aloud. It was just Snafu’s brain concerning itself with that. Plenty of the rest of him didn't mind.

The privacy, the cheap but exotic décor, the clean linens - it got to be so removed from the war and life on the islands that when Snafu thought about it, he was alarmed, as it seemed he might not be gaining the same effect of feeling a little more whole after each encounter with Sledge. The lack of contrast with extreme awfulness wasn’t as present and somehow that mattered. Hell if he wanted to go back just for that, though. 

Instead, it became just about feeling good and being together in an unrestrained way (other than not really talking about what this was or where it was going or anything; again, not that Snafu worried about it) for the one to twelve hours at a time they had, depending on the pass and how they used it. Snafu marveled at his sensitivity for feeling Sledge trace gentle abstract patterns on his back after exertion as they lay side by side. He otherwise might have guessed that the pelting rain from the islands had used up all his capacity for detecting fine sensations. Snafu could rub Sledge’s feet and see him fall apart in gratitude after a night on guard duty, and then something about that always had Sledge on his knees sucking Snafu's cock. Sledge could pull on the hair at the crown of Snafu’s head and just take it that much further in intensity when fucking him from behind...so many things that just felt good. They didn’t tire of it, and while it wasn’t frantic, it did retain an insatiable quality that ran deep, past all flesh. They might not have been cancelling what had been horrific about their war experiences, but they were stacking up a pile of genuine good, counterweighting the monumental bad which hung so heavy and bent them. 

Outside of that (motherfucking honeymoon), life was military glamorous with K Company. They were usually housed in a compound formerly used as a diplomatic post. Being in real buildings was novel, but sleeping on hard surfaces kept it unsatisfying, and temperature control was unreliable. The mortal threats they faced were not really bearing down, but confusing, with guns wielded by 4 or 5 different Chinese groups vying with each other for power around them. These local politics and violence kept it edgy. Despite the improvement relative to Okinawa (how could it have been worse?) and the escapes of liberty passes, it was generally tense enough, fraught with confrontations and skirmishes and occasional American casualties, that there was no relaxation. Nerves couldn’t find refuge. Most everyone who’d been in combat was stumbling, especially at night. 

Sledge stumbled the first night Snafu had guard duty. 

Snafu slowly paced along the inside of the walls of the compound, covering the ground he was supposed to, piling up the cigarette butts. It was cold but not insufferably so. Snafu had heard someone coming out and went to the entrance of the building where the guys were sleeping, and saw it was Sledge emerging, shaking. Really shaking. He had two blankets draped around his shoulders which he probably had previously been bundled up in. He curiously donned his helmet, and his brow glistening under it. 

"Need another blanket, Sledgehamma?" Snafu asked quietly as he approached, hoping to sound casual so as not to feed Sledge's frayed state of mind, and not let on his heart was sinking at this sight. 

Sledge squeaked, “Can’t sleep,” and he began vigorously rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Snafu knew that rub. It was meant to pop one's eyeballs into one's head, as if that might erase all visualization capacity in waking, in sleep, in mind, everywhere. The horifying images of war wiped out forever with the right modification to the eyes. Now, as to the fear, the screams, the smells...

Sledge gave up on rubbing and moved on to staring, senses pricked up and scanning the dark world.

“’S alright, Sledgehammer, no bad guys out here tonight,” Snafu said, tentative, not sure where Sledge was other than between his own head and actually standing there. 

Sledge tossed the blankets off like a matador and drew his sidearm, pointing downward with a stiff arm. He was not threatening, but was scared and ready. After a pause, he crouched down, fighting sobs, “Lemme just make sure….somethin’ ain’t right…”

“Sledge…”

“This…the line? Snafu?”

“Sledge...”

“Any Nips out here?”

“Eugene...”

Sledge sounded utterly panicked as he said, “Why ain't we dug in? Why? Them Nips are sneaking around out there!” Sledge looked around and diffused himself some, muttering, “Cause there’s no Nips here to kill us…Right?…Goddammit.” Sledge then beat the pistol butt into his helmet, muttering, “Come on, Sledge….” He rocked on his haunches, struggling in the dark quagmire between past and present, knowing it and not knowing it.

“’s alright Eugene.”

A quick wind behind them stirred dried leaves around on the stone ground and Sledge popped around 180 degrees in his crouch. He gripped the pistol with two hands for stability in case he’d need to fire it. After a moment waiting, which Snafu admittedly was OK with listening for a bit just to be sure, Sledge hung his head and appeared to be shaming himself, maybe due to a gossamer of reality registering, maybe out of remorse for failing to shoot a hallucinated foe. 

Snafu had been inching closer, not too worried for his own safety. In dreams or not, Sledge knew Snafu, and Sledge was certainly in one or the other or both of those places. The bad dreams of being shelled in the bloody mud of Okinawa were nothing like the urban Chinese reality entailing mostly guard duty, so being confused might have seemed especially pathetic. However, it was common. Sledge had, until that moment, seemed to be doing better than a lot of guys. Snafu was just in the pack on the matter, and when he woke up startled and sweating himself every other night or so, he always first checked Sledge, almost always nearby and almost always peaceful. So now it was greatly upsetting to see him much farther gone than Snafu thought he was ever going to go. 

A fellow mortarman peaked out of the building door to see what was going on. Snafu nodded he should come take over for him, and this was unfortunately a familiar enough scenario that the nod was all it took. The other man signaled he’d be back as quick as he could. 

“Eugene, everything’s alright. You’re OK. Come with me,” Snafu kept on, making sure he spoke as he approached. “Come on,” he repeated as he reached out to Sledge’s shoulder. Sledge startled and turned so Snafu dropped to a crouch, too, and reached to grip both sides of Eugene’s face. “You’re awake, this is China, these here are Snafu’s lips flapping at ya, not to mention ready to do a whole lot more,” he coaxed, testing, hoping.

Sledge showed some recognition, then disappointment and shame, and back to some wild-eyed fear. “My heart’s beating so fast,” Sledge whispered, breathing hard, sweating, grabbing at Snafu’s forearms. “My heart…Jesus, my heart…”

“It’s gon’ be Ok,” Snafu insisted for both their sakes. Sledge was looking around, looking dizzy. “Eyes on me, Sledgehamma, right here,” Snafu quietly commanded, placing a hand over Sledge’s heart. “Ain' nothing wrong here. It's jus' runnin' from ghosts. Right here right now it's jus' you n’ me. We’re ok. No Nips. Jus’ bad dreams, bad jujo in dat head-a yours. Now, I’ll take this." Snafu took the pistol gently out of Sledge's hand as Snafu saw Sledge was totally focused on him, and his heart was slowing, slighty. "Don' worry, I got you. Feel my hand? That's real, Sledgehamma. You with me?"

Sledge nodded and Snafu put the gun in his pocket and rose up, bringing Sledge with. They started walking, dragging the blankets and exiting in perfect time with their buddy taking over for Snafu. Snafu steered them to an old stable in the compound, currently just housing a few overflow supplies. 

They streaked in, having picked up momentum as they approached due to Sledge seeming more and more in terror of personal implosion. They collapsed down in a spot they knew of in the third stall. Snafu sat upright, leaning against an inner wall, pulling Sledge down and letting him curl up. Sledge went through fits clinging and twisting in the crook of Snafu's arm, unleashing what he was building up during their dash. He escalated to out and out screaming into Snafu's elbow, broken up by choking sounds – terrified he was really going to stop breathing or have his heart give out. This lasted about 5 minutes, and was only broken when Snafu yanked Sledge’s head over and up, putting them face to face. 

“Sledgehamma!” he said firmly, trying to get his attention. Sledge’s eyes were shifting around and he was gripping his chest and whimpering. Snafu slapped him, then sucked in Sledge’s lower lip and bit down till Snafu tasted blood. "You're ok," Snafu desperately whispered at him, lips still locked. 

Sledge shoved Snafu away, only more panicked. "Get off! I can't breathe! Gimme some god damned air!"

Snafu could see he’d have to do something he wouldn’t relish but would probably rescue Sledge. Drawing a deep breath and apologizing with his eyes while letting nothing of the sort bleed through his stern monotone drawl, he set out to provoke Sledge into coming back. 

"Ok, alright. Hey, listen, you’re not gonna die ah no heart trouble, ass hole. Your heart’s fine. But what do I know? You know what? Let’s ask Lancaster what he thinks ah your heart. Yeah - Jesse Lancaster. Or hey, how bout Phipps? Or Haven. They know what it feels like to have heart trouble, hmm? They know – they had their hearts torn clean through real good, didn’t they? Phipps even fucking touched his own god damn beating heart. Least for a moment. Remember that? They’ll tell you ‘bout heart troubles. They became experts in one a dem trial-by-fire kind-a ways." 

Sledge was attending, stilled, looking more horrified by the moment, eyes focusing and unfocusing in recognition and memory.

"You asking ‘em now Sledgehamma? Go on, they’re any-fucking-where you wanna believe they might be." Snafu waved one hand in the air. "Let’s pray to ‘em and see if we find out if your motherfucking heart is in any kinda bad shape. Them spirits, they know. Phipps? You here? Whatchu got to say to Sledgehamma here, this healthy young Marine whining and moaning his heart is beating too fast. How that sittin’ with you, Phipps?” 

Snafu stared at Sledge so as not to soften it one bit, and sure enough, Sledge withered and teared in self-pity. It lasted all of ten seconds. Sledge was entitled to more, but he didn’t take it. 

Instead he throttled himself into guilty moaning for over an hour over fallen friends. Snafu teared with him and shared his memories, but their roles were clear. Snafu remained upright. Sledge lost a little more energy with each recounting of a good man he knew and how he couldn't understand how God saw fit to have each one slaughtered or mangled in each unique way that they were. And then Sledge's refrain was how sorry he was, how he couldn't account for why he was alive and unscathed. It was agony, pent up mourning. It was eternally unanswered fears these comrades had suffered, or worried about letting anyone down in their dying moments when they'd served so admirably.

Eventually Sledge slipped from his rambling narrative into untargeted sobbing hysterics, hyperventilating quietly, giving in to hopelessness, eyes closed. He might have drifted off to sleep, but instead, Sledge started groping around the ground with all his limbs, becoming a bit of a challenge for Snafu to keep hold of. It was like Sledge wanted to find a place to lay his body in the earth, had to paw and dig for it but couldn’t stop assessing where to start, couldn’t be satisfied, couldn’t stay in comfort with Snafu, like literally his body wasn’t permitted. Snafu understood. This kind of crazy could be made up of a bunch of stuff. There was a need to hit the deck and get some familiar dug-in shelter. There was guilt in comfort so you didn't accept comfort if you had it. Most of all, pieces of the exhaustion and exasperation from those unfathomable drawn-out physical degradations of the battlefields were emerging, like they had been stored up somewhere inside the body and came out to be experienced finally, and they made you as crazy as they did back when you were going on your tenth day of never lying down to sleep. The sheer volume of discomfort, fear, and disgust they had been asked to endure during battle was not survivable without some kind of mechanism to tuck at least some away for later. Guys who couldn’t were some of the ones who lost their minds in the middle of it, Snafu came to believe. So the best you could hope for was this ooze of the bullshit from time to time, or maybe if you went long enough, it would rot you inside out. Hard to know this soon, though. 

Snafu just held firm, seeing Sledge through, to at least keep him physically safe. Sledge was low in his energy trough but about to shred his fingernails from scraping around the cobblestone floor. Snafu transitioned from gripping to massaging, stroking, temple rubbing, dragging fingertips to whatever he could of Sledge’s flesh from his untucked shirt. Snafu scooted down, laying with Sledge, pressing himself against him as much as he could. Sledge slowed his flailing and calmed in sequence with Snafu efforts. He began to sigh. He eventually muttered, “Don’t mean to drag you through this. So pathetic. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Snafu sighed and kissed him firmly on the lips for a long spell, then lingered with his forehead pressed to Sledge's, as Snafu winced over wishing Sledge knew that he would do this with him, for him, any time, any where, for as long as he needed. But instead, he just said, "Shut the fuck up," and then started working Sledge's pants open, scanning Sledge’s face to be sure he was there enough and that this was OK, cause it made sense to Snafu.

"Sorry,” Sledge whispered, hints of a smile now bookending his mouth, telling Snafu what he needed to know.

Snafu kissed down Sledge's neck as he reiterated, "Shut. The fuck. Up."

“Gotta say something to you after all this.”

Pausing on his way to kiss Sledge's stomach, Snafu got mildly philosophical and suggested, “How about, ‘fuck me, Snafu?’”

Mouth now twisted into a sideways grin, Sledge said, “I don’t have to say that.”

Snafu moved back up to kiss gently Sledge’s jawline, follow it back to his ear, poke a trail of wet dots with the tip of his tongue down the side of Sledge’s rough neck, ready for a shave in a few more hours. Then Snafu clamped onto the sinews of Eugene’s neck and got him writhing. Snafu had also gotten his hands into Sledge’s pants by then and was palming and lightly rubbing Eugene’s cock, which was mostly hard and soon would be at full attention. Sledge was there with Snafu again in body and in mind, and had easily transitioned to being intense and serious and wanting, which was really where Snafu understood him best. Snafu ramped up his arousal quickly, knowing this was the right kind of release that Sledge would want. Snafu spent a little more time trying to devour Sledge’s demons straight through his skin, sucking and biting all over his neck and jaw and ear and torso. In a bit, Sledge pulled his pants off and pulled Snafu over him. 

Lots of spit and a predictable amount of patience later, Snafu got into Sledge’s tight hole. He never could quite keep in his head how tight it always was at first, how fucking amazingly good that felt. Sledge looked to have no care in the world except how his body felt, as Snafu hovered over him, Sledge’s long thin legs up around both sides of Snafu. Sledge watched Snafu for a bit, then closed his eyes, and Snafu let himself indulge a little more in his own sensations, let go of monitoring Sledge as he thrust and savored the journey, the build, the trust. 

"Aw, please...oh come on...please," Sledge could be heard from a distance, it seemed, and Snafu remembered he should grab Eugene's cock and go at that too.

After they both came, Snafu felt not just that amazing release and relaxation, and satisfaction of seeing Sledge OK again, but also there was that restoration of what might have been his actual soul, which he wasn’t getting back as clearly out there in Motel Shangri-La for whatever reason.

 

********

When they were told they would go home within the coming 24 hours, the men around them inquired about their respective specific plans again. Most everyone knew each other’s basics - where home was, if there was a girl, if there was a job or school. This topic of conversation never ceased to be interesting, especially when it suddenly became real. It came around to Sledge first. Taking in the sudden news of heading home, Sledge seemed haunted, awash in the collective of his experiences he’d soon be leaving behind. A common reaction Snafu observed plenty. Haltingly, Sledge predicted, “You know, probably get back to school, eventually, but, I don’t really know. All I’m sure of is I’m gonna sleep in a warm, clean, soft bed. Sleep and sleep.” He sent a pointed glance at Snafu.

“How ‘bout you, Snafu?” someone tossed his way.

“Aw, don’t worry about ol’ Snafu,” he grinned, sitting comfortably atop his nausea at the news of discharge with a cigarette. “Sledge seems to have the right idea to me.” There was jeering. “I don't mean school, you idiots. I mean good clean nighty night time. Night after beautiful night.” Guys chuckled, because of course the way Snafu echoed Sledge’s innocent idea, he made it sound dirty, even though he and Sledge didn’t really mean anything different by it. 

During the many-days’ ship ride home, Sledge couldn’t specify anything about his future plans. Snafu tried all kinds of sideways paths to such conversation, but Sledge had only vague hopes for more good sleep, which registered less and less for Snafu as invitations, and instead seemed more and more like throwaway musings the closer they got to the U.S. Obviously, Sledge had said, they each had to report home, reassure their mommas, get bearings, and then figure it out. Whatever that all meant. 

There was a monumental upside to Sledge's abstract view on an unspecified but perfectly possible future with Snafu: it demonstrated that Sledge’s characteristic hope was indeed intact. Snafu felt the finest warrior's pride for that, even better than had he captured the sword of a Japanese officer right before committing hari kari. Snafu had won his war against the forces of evil prying at Sledge's soul. Theoretically, that had meant everything, had become the entire point. 

Yet, Snafu had miscalculated. He forgot to account for the possibility he’d still be lugging his own fragmented self around. This seemed like a problem for the long term if Sledge was really to stay saved and at the same time be with Snafu in some way.

He had tried to merge himself enough with Sledge so that he could also feel optimistic, or at least trust Sledge’s optimism. But it was too late. Every time Snafu went to work out some pathway to a future with Sledge, the best case scenario was a life in the shadows. Urban or rural, near or far from family, adjacent houses or shared one room apartment. There just wasn’t any Golden Brick Road to any Emerald City. What kind of recovery and healing could they accomplish living that way? Hell, could they even preserve the little good they'd done? 

Thin nausea accompanied Snafu all the way to San Diego and rode along on the train too. The train slowly, kind of painfully, stopped every few hours, more or less, to deliver discharged service members back to homes across America's south, homes that were poorly prepared for what they were getting back. Each stop, each solemn nod and handshake “so-long” that Snafu was or was not a direct part of ate away at him. 

Sledge wasn't acting too happy, but at the same time he seemed content with his lack of plan. His comfortable vision of the future was so blurry it didn't matter what Snafu's agreement or disagreement with it was. 

"Just don't forget to leave me an address," Eugene would say about every 2 hours.

"Mmmm'mm," Snafu would nod, hands busy smoking or eating or playing cards or drinking or anything other than being free to write at the moment.

"Maybe in a few weeks I'll borrow my dad's car and drive down," Sledge would say. "Although I just can't account for my brother, what his being around might mean."

“You do what you gotta do,” Snafu responded reasonably, but he hoped Sledge felt how he didn’t care for this utter bullshit.

Crossing into Louisiana coincided with the right time for the last hoorah. Snafu went down to a remote sleeper car. Sledge eyed him in silent agreement. It was early evening, just the beginning of cocktails and dinner, making this about the least likely time anyone would want to sleep. There was a practice of securing up blankets to block out the light for one’s little bunk space, which also increased the privacy. It was a perfectly insane layer of security to trust as adequate, but they still needed each other. It would probably still be worth it to go for it amidst the mud and bones again if that happened to be the only option. 

Snafu set up the blanket shield and lay down to wait for Sledge, letting the gentle rocking of the train try to soooth him. Snafu considered how there could be other sources of pleasant sensation to be found out there, like such rocking, and he might as well learn to lower his standards.

Sledge slipped in, crawling up Snafu’s body. They gripped each others’ arms. Lights from outside dashed across their faces as the train passed through a town. They stared for a million miles at each other.

Sledge inhaled to speak. Snafu sprang into action but was only quick enough to stop the entire word, not its beginning phonemes: “La—…“ Snafu’s lips worked in concert with his hands, smashing Sledge’s face onto his own. He devoured Sledge’s words to prevent marking the moment too starkly. 

They kissed and groped at each other and grinded hips precariously in the small bunk, intensely, desperately, rushed, increasingly sweaty, and huffing in efforts to keep somewhat quiet. They were alone in the car and would probably hear a door slide open – probably. Snafu kept smashing his lips to Sledge's each time it seemed he might try to say anything, and otherwise concerned himself with trying to emblaze in his brain how everything looked or felt about Sledge, about being with him. Not that he could ever forget, or that anyone could ever know more about Sledge than Snafu did. 

Snafu’s body cried out for as much good as it could get, even if Snafu knew there would be no full satisfaction in these conditions. Snafu maneuvered to get out from under Sledge and get the other man’s pants and underwear down just enough as he folded himself and unfolded to be turned around and able to take Sledge in his mouth. Sledge saw fit to roll them side by side and take Snafu's hard cock into his mouth in kind. Snafu spent his usual time sucking the head and getting Sledge really wanting it, then he squeezed and licked Eugene’s balls as he used his hand to work Sledge’s dick hard and fast, then finally sucked Sledge’s hard leaky cock into his mouth again and in short order, was taking his cum right down his throat. Snafu barely knew what was happening to his own dick specifically. He just knew there was a general warm moist amazing massage going on that had him clearly and solidly on the path to coming. As Sledge came, he released Snafu from his mouth to make sure he didn’t bite, and then Sledge, being spent, let Snafu go at his mouth. Sledge had become pretty fucking skilled and tolerant. Soon Snafu came inside Sledge’s warm mouth, but as he did, the cramped, trapped conditions offered a stifling sensation that really tainted the whole thing.

"Hope that getches ya to Mobeeeeel, Sledgehamma,” Snafu whispered softly as they settled back face to face.

“That’ll do fine,” Sledge shot back warmly, hugging, not collapsing under the gravity one bit. Then he took in a deep breath. “You’re almost home. We best be getting back.” He yawned mightily, and kissed Snafu neatly, paused, then kissed him again, longer. "I'm sleepy."

"Surprise, surprise."

"Ain't you?"

"Not this time. Like you said, I'll be home soon."

Sledge untangled from Snafu leaving icy cold spots where there had been warm contact. Snafu’s body screamed to stay, but what the fuck else was new. Snafu shivered as he walked back, following Sledge down the corridors, at first pressing into him along the stretch of the empty sleeper cars, but distancing when crossing into populated, civilized spaces. When they returned to their seats, most guys who had been sitting around them had dispersed to dine or drink and chat it up with other passengers lucky enough to ride with yet another wave of men returning home. Sledge collapsed into his seat by the window and Snafu sat more primly across from him.

“Hungry or anything?” Snafu asked, amusing himself with the civility in the context of the feeling of violence happening, of ripping apart.

“No,” Sledge responded, already leaning with heavy eyelids against his duffle. “Just stay close. Helps me sleep, I think.” Snafu just glanced a sarcastic “of course” look at him. Sledge was asleep in no time. 

Snafu fell into a panic. He suddenly reasoned that life in the shadows on his lone might work, as long as he could live it out near Sledge. Maybe he didn’t have to get off the train too soon and all alone. He’d insist Sledge live in the light, and if anything, maybe just come visit Snafu once a spell. Snafu could live on such scraps, especially if Sledge could thrive and he could just watch. 

But once the train started passing through the parishes of New Orleans’ west bank and reality sank in, Snafu came to his senses, as his town was ripe with stories of how being attached to a bad deal, a bad home, a bad woman – it never ended well. Sledge was still peacefully passed out against his duffle, had barely shifted much for all the hours it took to chug across Louisiana. Sledge was doing so well compared to other Okinawa survivors. He seemed pretty much ship shape again. Snafu knew this because Sledge had only the odd disturbance on nights corresponding to Snafu’s guard duty. As Sledge swore there were no other times, Snafu took comfort knowing Sledge’s shell shock was infrequent, and not linked to anything Snafu could identify as mattering. 

Sledge's peaceful sleep was all the sign he needed. He would leave no address. He would just take a last look, satisfied he was doing the right thing. He was grateful he knew how to make his body move when it was screaming not to. He got off the train, leaving Sledge with the final gift of sleep Snafu could give him.

***END***


End file.
